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POEM S, 



LONGER AND SHORTER; 



THOMAS BURBIDGE, 



OF TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE, 



ALD 




x/; 



•?^ 






LONDON : 

WILLIAM PICKERING. 

1838. 






CHARLES WHiTTl-NCHAM 
LONDON 



DEDICATION. 

Know iXG well that these Poems, composed between 
the ag'es of eighteen and twenty-two, will shew 
me their faults with every succeeding year more 
plainly, I prevent them from ever becoming dis- 
tasteful to me by associating- with them the names 
of my school-fellows and most dear friends : 

John Philip Gell. 
Charles Jonisr Vaughan. 
John Nassau Simpkinson. 
Arthur Hugh Clougii. 
Theodore Walrond. 



April, 18S8. 



CONTENTS. 



LONGER POEMS. 

Page 
Prefatory Stanzas I 

The Bridal op Ravenna 5 

m nemeion 31 

The Madman's Day 67 

SHORTER POEMS. 
Miscellaneous Poems :— Part I. 

1 79 

II. For a Book of Poetry, Designs, &c 81 

III. A Moral for Spring 84 

IV. The Green Lane 85 

V 89 

VI 90 

VII. Dirge 93 

VIII. Holbrook Firs 95 

IX. Address to Beauty 98 

X 101 

XI. To Imperia 102 

XII. Inscription for a Garden Seat 103 

xiu. Day's Help 104 

XIV 105 

XV 106 

XVI. The Miser's Dream 108 

XVII. Song 110 

XVIII. To Three Little Girls at a Pianoforte Ill 

XIX. Inscription for a Spring-head 112 

XX. Song 113 

XXI. The Highlander in Italy 115 

xxii. Motto for a Book of Sea-weeds IIS 

xxiii. The Haunted Cottage 119 

XXIT 121 

Spring Sonnets : 

1 127 

II 128 

III 129 

IV 180 

V 131 



VJ CONTENTS. 

Spring Sot<^^ts— continued. 

Page 

VI 132 

VII 133 

VIII 134 

IX 135 

X. 136 

XI 137 

XII 138 

XIII 139 

XIV 140 

XV 141 

Miscellaneous Poems:— Part 11. 

1 145 

II. The Poets 146 

III. Song 154 

IV. The Awaking of the Sleeper 155 

V. Sleep's Praise 156 

VI. To a little Sister 158 

VII 160 

VIII 162 

IX. An old Man to his little Child 165 

X. Inscription for an Arbour formed out of a large 

Clematis 167 

XI. Translation, JEneii IV. 168 

XII. A Vision for a May Noon 1G<) 

XIII. Yesterday 170 

XIV. Return 173 

XV 176 

XVI. Armoria's Garden 177 

xvj I. An Aria 179 

XVIII 180 

XIX. Inscription for a Fountain 181 

XX. Sir Leonard 182 

XXI 183 

XXII J84 

xxiii. God's Gift 185 

XXIV 187 

Sonnets Personal and Occasional : 

I 191 

II. To Stephen Langton '. . . 192 

III. To The Same 193 

IV. Wildersmouth 194 

V 195 

VI 196 

VII 197 

VIII. The Temple-caves of Elephanta i98 

IX 199 

X. On certain Psalmody 200 



CONTENTS. VU 

SoNXKTs Personal and Occasional — continued. 

Page 

XI 201 

XII 202 

XIII 203 

XIV. To the Stars 204 

XV 205 

XVI 206 

XVII 207 

xvin 208 

XIX 209 

XX. Boyhood's Bliss 2J0 

XXI. Veaus Emergens 211 

XXII. The Same continued 212 

xxiii 213 

XXIV '. 214 

XXV. On a Violet floating in a Glass of Water 215 

XXVI 216 

xxvii 217 

xxviii. Written on the 20th June, 1837 218 

XXIX. The Same continued 219 

XXX 220 

XXXI 221 

XXXII 222 

XXXUT 223 

XXXIV. To the Poet Wordsworth 224 

XXXV. To The Same . . .• 225 

XXXVI. The Portrait of the same Poet in the Combi- 
nation Room of St. John's College, Cambridge 226 

XXXVII. To Amy Robsart 227 

xxxviii 228 

xxxix 229 

XL 230 

XLi. 231 

XLII 232 

XLIII 233 

XLiv. Madingley Churchyard 234 

XLV 235 

XLYI 238 

XLVii 237 

XLViii 238 

XLix. On receiving good News of a Friend in India . 239 

L , 240 

LI 241 

Lii 242 

Liil 243 

LIV 244 

Lv. Written after reading a Book of Eastern 

Travels 245 



Vlll CONTENTS. 

Miscellaneous Poems : — Pai't III. Page 

1. The Gipsy Beggar 249 

II. Inscription for an Arbour 252 

III 253 

IV 256 

•. V. Colin Clout in Warwickshire 259 

VI. 261 

VII. Grace Carewe 262 

VIII 267 

IX. The Clearing of the Rain 269 

X 270 

XI. Mother's Love 272 

XII. Verses for a common Case 274 

XIII. The Fourth Bell 278 

XIV 282 

XV 284 

XVI 286 

XVII 288 

xviii 290 

XIX. To a Butterfly 291 

XX. Inscription for a Vase overgrown with Vine . . 292 

XXI. To a Brown Loaf 293 

XXII 294 

xxiii. Inscription for a Pyramid planted with Flowers, 

the Tomb of a Dog 295 

XXIV 296 

XXV. Song 299 

XXVI 300 

XXVII 302 

xxviii. 303 

XXIX. To one Weeping at the Fall of a Tree 304 

XXX 306 

XXXI 310 

XXXII 311 

xxxiii. A Request and the Answer 313 

XXXIV. On a Melancholy Birthday Song 316 

XXXV. On Visiting a Wild Beast Show after an 

Evening Walk 318 

XXXVI. The Moon whom Captives Love 321 

xxxvii. Translation, ^neid XI. 342 — 377 323 

Darkness Departed: 

Stanzas Introductory 327 

1 329 

II 330 

III 331 

IV 334 

V 335 

VI 336 

vu. A Farewell to an old set of College Rooms. , . . 339 

Observations 343 

Notes 349 



PREFATORY STANZAS. 

As one that doth a little space delight 
To lose himself in dread sepulchral g-looms, 
Deep caverns, haunts of chilly-finger'd Night ; 
Or in the steamy blackness of old tombs 
To watch the grave-flowers' melancholy blooms, 
Spiting the free blue air and sunny sky ; 
So the soul hangs some special-stately rooms 
With sombre livery of old griefs gone by, 
Prank'd with dead hopes, like flowers, garlanded 
painfully ; 

Yet ever from these rooms of sternest pleasure, 
And lips locked up, and eye bent down in awe, 
'Twill hurry back to its unguarded treasure 
Safe in the keeping of earth's primal law ; 
Diapered field, and lynch, and grassy shaw, 
And mountain, and smooth hill, and ancient wood. 
And all those things which shape and substance 

draw 
From that free breath of happiness and good, 
Which overflows, like air, green Nature's solitude. 



2 PREFATORY STANZAS. 

So have I dared, a careless voyager, leaving" 
My boat, upon the sunny bank to play ; 
Although meanwhile the silly skiff is cleaving 
Towards life's hoarse whirlpools its ungoverned 

way. 
Well ! let me loiter while the blooms of May 
Spot the blue wave, and laugh along the shore ; 
Take ease, tired Arm, until a darker day ! 
Lie by and rest, my true and limber Oar, 
Till sun and bank and flower tempt me to play no 
more. 

Then haply with a nerved and new endeavour 
I may resume my labour, fit and free 
With hardier stroke the sullen waves to sever, 
And cut my passage to the final sea : 
Yet not so burdensome the toil may be 
But that at times the unbidden song may flow 
From my wide lips, when leaning eagerly, 
The bent oar springs and flashes as I go, 
Flinging the sparkling foam in flakes like winter 



— So spake I when my heart was hot with youth 
Untempered ; and my new Imagination 
Deemed Beauty lovelier was than Right or 

Truth ; 
And Duty, a dim moonish exhalation, 
Lay idle on the sky of Contemplation, 
A rayless mid-day crescent ; and First Love, 



PREFATORY STANZAS. 3 

A pure boy's love, hung in supremest station 

Her luminous Star, a tender Tight which clove 

Young passion's rosy clouds, not of them but above. 

And so I wandered for six feverish years : 
And boldly spread my boyhood's careless sail 
Along the coasts of Smiles and Sighs and Tears 
In turn ; — yea, deep in many a hidden vale 
Of each, have tarried. But a cheek too pale. 
And limbs too weak, and blood too quick or slow, 
Give warning thence ere health and courage fail ; 
Therefore be ended Fancy's dangerous shew, 
Henceforth be God's own gifts enough of joy or 
woe ! 

But not to Thee, sweet Poesy ! — not to Thee„ 
Ethereal Spirit of Beauty, Love and Right, 
Bid I herewith farewell. O, were I free 
From thy blest bondage ( — chains of sunny light 
Which bind me night and morn, and morn and 

night — ) 
Yet for the (1) Vision's splendour that hath been. 
For Love made lovelier. Boyhood's self more 

bright, 
And Youth yet sharing thy resplendent sheen, 
Still must I kneel to thee, my handmaid, spouse 

and queen ! 

Thus only change I, that a higher sphere 
Thou shalt henceforth inhabit, — calmer skies ; 



4 PREFATORY STANZAS. 

The awfuller heights of Christian Hope and Fear, 
The calmer heaven of Christian charities ; 
This only if in His good will it lies, 
Who is thy Master, as of all things good, 
Mine, as of all things evil, weak, unwise ! 
Hence through the stress of every fickle mood, 
Be Fancy's strength to His submitted and subdued ! 



THE BRIDAL OF RAVENNA. 



THE BRIDAL OF RAVENNA. 



A SONG ! a song ! — there's no voice beside, 

For the sun hath lain down on the green hill's 
breast, 
And the birds are idle and sleepy-eyed, 

And the young lambs gone to rest ; 
A song" ! a song* !,— fo a welcomino: 

To the midnight hours approaching. 
That the stirring voice of a living thing 
May rise on the hush, like the green of spring 

On the wintry woods encroaching. 
Sing me a song — be it grave or gay, 

From a sad or^a joyful bosom. 
To vibrate far in the leaves away, 
Shaking the dew from the pine-tree spray 

And the scent from the olive blossom ! 

Why spake he thus, that wild-eyed boy, 
When he was all alone ; 
Who there should wake in sorrow or joy 
A glad or a mournful tone ? 
Was there a choir of the wood nymphs old 
Hid in the hollow trees, 



8 THE BRIDAL OF RAVENNA. 

Or deem'd the boy that his prayer was told 

To the listening- Naiades ? 

There was a stream and an ancient wood, 

But the days were past, I ween. 

When the nymphs sang up thro' the bubbling flood, 

Or laugh'd through the leafy screen. 

Then was he in a rapturous dream. 
Such dream as boyhood knows, 
When the earth is fill'd with a golden gleam. 
And the gates of heaven unclose : 
And we stand on earth 'mid an heavenly host 
Who sing in an angel strain 
Of the joyful things that our parents lost, 
And their sons shall receive again ; 
Of the love that is not o'erdarken'd with fears, 
But, pure as the heaven it shadows, 
Flows on unstained down the vale of years. 
Like a brook through the laughing meadows ; 
Of the faith that is not bought by guile, 
But in innocent calm reposes. 
By the young earth's joy made warm the while, 
Like a clear lake winning a sunny smile 
From the hue of its circling roses : 
Was it to these he made his prayer. 
That lonely boy at eve, 

With his heart so still that he might not care 
If the song should rejoice or grieve ? 

Hush ! let Night repeat her tale. 



THE BRIDAL OF RAVENNA. 

Hear the answering nightingale ! 
Far and near the throbbing song 
Rises, sinks or floats along ! 
Low or loud, serene, sedate, 
Plaintive, peaceful, passionate ; 
Shyly threads the darkened alleys. 
Walled and roofed with scented leaves ; 
Echoes down the swarded valleys ; 
Climbs the feathered mountain-cleaves ; 
Till upon the waters falling, 
In its sad and sweet decay, 
Dies in silence more enthralling 
The delicious roundelay. 

Where the shadow of Ravenna's wood 
Is darker than the night, 
Is built a bower, where Solitude 
Might take his best delight ; 
A nest-like dwelling in the arms 
Of oak, and larch, and pine ; 
Fit refuge, Sylvia, for charms — 
Alas, and crimes like thine ! 

Bedded in branches deep and green 
That lone tower's base is seldom seen. 
And one small wicket rudely fixt 
Two furrowed chestnut boles betwixt. 
And one tall turret loftily 
From far away espied. 
Looming above the leafy sea 



10 THE BRIDAL OF RAVENNA. 

Of the tree-tops waving restlessly, 

Like a rock across the tide, 

Are all of visible works that stand 

To tell that human heart or hand 

Hath ever crossed the silent mood • 

Of the deep mid-forest's solitude. 

Yet there are paths in that deep wood, 
And meetings by the moon, 
And hearts have yielded, ere they should, 
Their best and dearest boon : 
And love in light unholy guise 
Hath there been asked and given. 
When the stars have hid their lustrous eyes 
And a veil has been over heaven. 
'Twould take the tears of a hundred years 
And a hundred years of prayer, 
To cleanse the crime from the Book of Time 
In a single night done there : 
woman so wicked and fair ! 
O youth so fiery-hearted ! 
When the sun grows dark in the mid-day sky, 
Then will the lust of the lawless eye 
From the pride of life be parted ! 

Yet among those who roam at eve 
The thickets of that tainted wood, 
Is one on whom all ill can leave 
No trace of evil, save for good ; 
In boyhood's spotless armour strong 



THE BRIDAL OF RAVE^^NA. U 

To love the right and hate the wrong, 
His heart like that Venetian glass 
That broke if poison touched the brim, 
Had sooner burst than there should pass 
Or rest a tainted thought in him. 
And though 'twas he whose signal son 
So softly stole those woods along, 
Yet not as others seek thy home, 
When evening lifts the veil of shame. 
And pleasure thrills the yielding frame, 
Woman of sin, is Ser Marco come ; 
Too young to know, too pure to guess 
The stoiy of thy wickedness. 
Yet old enough to see and care 
That love is sweet and thou art fair ! 

With a misty light the moon came out 
As Marco struck the closing chords. 
But the huddling notes run wild about. 
And the singer's lip it gives no words ; — 
Why are the lips so suddenly mute. 
What hath possessed the foolish lute ? 

Two forms stood there before his sight 
Cut dark against the red fire-light ; 
A female cheek was fondly press'd, 
Too fondly for a simple guest, 
A little word, " Away !" was spoken, 
And a spell was raised and a heart's thrall broken. 
For Ser Marco seized his bridle rein, 



12 THE BRIDAL OF RAVENNA. 

And flung his lute upon the ground ; 
And the stamp of hooves urged on amain 
Died sooner from the echoing plain 
Than the harp-string's jarring sound. 

And Sylvia stood aghast awhile, 
And then, as eased from deadly pain, 
She smiled a sweet and sudden smile, 
And spake the selfsame word again : 
" Away !" she said, and he, the guest, 
Again her cheek as closely pressed ; 
And went his way and ne'er returned ; 
For a silence crept on his riotous breast 
As he thought on the light so fierce and fell, 
Like a gleam 'twixt the burning bars of hell. 
In the Harlot's eyes that burned ; 
And the voice that seemed some stranger's tone, 
And not that too familiar one ! 

And Sylvia turned her then and knew 
Within her lonely home, 
That utter wretchedness which few 
Have felt and overcome ; 
It seemed as yet life's troubled wave 
Had flowed beneath the sun, 
But now was entered in a cave, — 
How deadly dark an one ! 
Where all the light was from behind, — 
Faint struggles of a failing mind 
In grim convulsive glimpses setting 



THE BRIDAL OF RAVE^^NA. 13 

Upon the waters ebbing fast, 

The horrible image of the past, 

Seen truly only when at last 

Is no repenting nor forgetting ! 

And love — for she had loved, and crime 

Had been no hindrance but a goad, 

That she might lighten for a time 

The ever-growing load : 

Love was with her but not to cheer ; 

Her silence was but drearier. 

That she possessed the magic viol, 

Which could have charmed her griefs away, 

And he alone would not make trial. 

For whom the fickle strings would play. 

And deem not that she could not know 
The passion's warmest, fondest glow. 
Because her soul no longer bore 
The purer hue which once it wore. 
O were it true, as some have said. 
That love but grows in holy ground, 
Where were the bitter harvest spread 
So thick within us and around ? 
They picture Love, in Indian tales. 
An infant on a milkwhite flower, 
That down the sacred river sails 
At evening's quiet hour ; 
There nestling in his pearly boat, 
For ever lies the Power afloat ; 
And all his play is, half-asleep, 



14 THE BRIDAL OF RAVENXA. 

To break the waves with frolic finger, 
Or hunt the twinkling orbs that linger 
Reflected in the soft blue deep ; 
But this is not the Love that mars 
The stillness of Italian bosoms, 
Though sailing midst as brilliant stars, 
Among as odorous blossoms ; 
Oh no ! the flower where he may lie 
Must be some flower of deeper dye ; 
And oh ! the stream he floats upon, 
Too oft, alas ! no hallowed one ! 

Marco forgot — 'tis ever thus ; 
Days pass away with shower and shine, 
With shower or shine alike bedimming 
The picture once believed divine. 
The full fair form and wild eyes swimming 
In languor most luxurious. 
Marco forgot his forest witch 
Before a beauty more enchanting ; 
Eyes rolling in a light as rich, 
As white a hand, as fair an arm, 
All girdled by that only charm 
In which his forest-love was wanting. 
What wonder ? Is't not ever so 
That men should pluck and fling away ? 
The flowers our woodland path that strew, 
The flowers that make our gardens gay, 
Is't not their guerdon every day. 
Common or choice, an hour or so 



THE BRIDAL OF RAVEKNA. 15 

To charm and then be flung- away ? 

And 'tis the same with tenderer buds 

Than fill the gardens or the woods, 

That cannot be renewed by tending, 

Replaced — refreshed— but when they die 

Sink to a sleep that hath no ending, 

And leave — how blank a vacancy ! — 

With hearts that have but one sweet blooming ; 

And when their wreathen stems are spent, 

Lie down content, or discontent. 

Even as they know they die entombing 

Their odours in their death, or keep 

The thought that there is one will weep 

The gracious memory of their scent. 

A year has passed — but one short year ; 
A little year of week and day. 
And day and moment scarcely here, 
Ere they were passed away ; 
A year of these unnoticed hours 
Had woven a dazzling veil that hung 
Betwixt his eyes and those wild bowers 
Which he so oft had roamed among. 
Where he had seen and sued and sung 
In passion's accents faintly clear. 
The while the whispering atmosphere 
Grew silent, and the shivering grass 
And rocking boughs their rustling cheer, 
Hushed for the vows to pass. 
And if sometimes the tender blue 



16 THE BRIDAL OF RAVENNA. 

That dwells above the setting sun, 
And love's white planet peeping through 
When day is scarcely done ; 
And spicy scent of forest leaves, 
And trunks subdued with rosy light ; 
And whispering sounds of summer eves, 
And sweeter hush of summer night ; 
And careless strings of loving rhymes, 
On boyhood's waxen heart impressed, 
Would make his bosom throb sometimes. 
And spoil his joy and break his rest. 
To Lyra's bower he would repair, 
And lull his treacherous memory there. 

The bridal day with every noon 
Grew nearer ; — well I wot, the day 
Fair Lyra said was all too soon ; 
For robe and tire and trinketry 
She needed a delay ; 
But Marco said, " Fair Lyra, I 
Am thirsty for thy love ; 0, pray 
Let Thursday be our wedding day ; 
To-morrow and to-morrow's peer 
Will well suffice for bridal cheer. 
Thou'rt conquered ? By thy golden hair 
Confess, confess it, lady fair !" 
And round his finger as he said 
He curled one shining tress : 
She cut the love-lock from her head, 
And whispered, '' I confess !" 



I 



THE BRIDAL OF RAVENNA. 17 

'Tis morn — the morn ; at dawn of day 
The Italian sky, a sea of mist, 
Of curling mist and vapours grey, 
Above the earth in silence lay ; 
Then softly, slowly, ray by ray, 
The Sun those vapours kissed, — 
Kissed into gold and rose-tints gay 
And purpling amethyst. 
And then the wind came up the south. 
And on its way with balmy mouth 
Breathed on the flowers, and every bud 
Gave sweetest answer as it could ; 
Faint odours some, but full and free 
The fragrance of the orange-tree. 

Young Marco lay, 'twixt sleep and waking, 
Beside the casement on his bed. 
While morning from its prison breaking, 
Those joyous odours shed ; 
Around him crept the burdened air. 
And, like a voice of song, 
A spell to rouse, a weight to bear. 
At once so weak and strong, 
That we are silent yet desire 
To utter words, and words of fire, — 
So wrapped that air the feverish boy 
Sleepless for love and hope and joy 
In anxious quiet long. 
About the casement twist and twine 
Thick tods of spicy jessamine, 
c 



18 THE BRIDAL OF RAVENNA. 

An ancient tree that well might bear 
A climber, like a turret stair, 
So wreathed it is and thick, — so wide 
Strag-gles the stem from side to side. 
Then suddenly on Marco's face 
Fell down a rustling shower apace 
Of snowy blooms, a blissful shower, 
A balmy rain of starry flower. 

A moment he lay still, and deemed 
'Twas but the wind ; but then a breath, 
A slide, a step, a leap beneath. 
Sounded, more stealthily it seemed 
Than suited well for passing jest 
To chide a bridegroom's lingering rest. 

Then up he sprang in time to see 
An urchin gliding from the tree, 
A wild-eyed boy, whose Nubian race 
Was written on his dusky face ; 
And Marco guessed whose ministry 
He served, for well he knew the glance 
That lit that wildest countenance, 
And oft in days of old would try 
With kindly gestures to engage 
The wayward heart of that strange boy — 
Serendib, Sylvia's tongueless page. 

Ser Marco called — in vain ! — the mute 
Pursued his path with fleetest foot ; 
And soon his course was lost to view 



THE BRIDAL OF RAVENlS^A. 19 

In Stately groves of arching yew, 
An ominous spot where grandames told 
A spirit wont to watch his gold, 
And blast the careless human eye 
That pried into the mystery. 

A moment Marco's gaze hung still 
In thought upon the empty air. 
Then dropped upon the marble sill : — 
Why starts he ? what is there ? 
In haste he broke the silken thread. 
And thus with greedy eyes he read : 

" If thou shouldst breathe," the writing ran, 
'' This scroll's import to mortal man 
'Tis death ! — but not alone to thee, 
On me as well the doom must be ; — 
Me — me once loved : — yet if thou wilt, 
No matter — so not mine the guilt. 
But to the work. To-night at noon 
A shadow will o'erdrive the moon ; 
Mark! — note it! — call thy guests to see, 
Then in the tumult steal to me. 
Watch well the hour — I need not pray. 
Nor kneel, nor supplicate to-day. 
But I command thee ! — in the gloom 
Of those wild yew trees round the tomb 
I wait thee — ^by the pending doom. 
By her thou lovest more than me. 
False Marco, now I summon thee !" 



20 THE BRIDAL OF RAVENNA. 

Let pass the day with all its train 
Of painful bliss and blissful pain ; — 
Let pass the rite that bound together, 
For all the turns of life's wild weather, 
Those two young hearts with that strong chain 
Which cannot be unlinked again : 
Let pass the tumult and the tears, 
The throng of bridal hopes and fears, 
The quivering heart of glad unrest. 
Nor be the song required to speak 
The blush on gentle Lyra's cheek. 
Or the pang in Marco's breast ! 

The eve slid down — the stars came forth, 
And dance and song, and speech of mirth : 
The odours fell from flower and tree. 
And the young cheek glowed more lovelily. 
The night waned fast. Fair Lyra's glance 
Dwelt on her husband's countenance ; 
With wonder watched his restless laughter. 
And the moody look and the silence after. 
And the stealthy gaze to where she sate 
Enthroned amid her bridal state. 
She left her seat — she sought his ear, 
She told her wonder and her fear — 
Whose word is that so harsh and cold ? 
The bridegroom's not a midnight old ! 

The moon came forth — in silvery showers 
The lustre fell upon the bowers. 



THE BRIDAL OF RAVEXXA. 21 

The blooms that had been lost to view 
Sprang straightway from the dusk anew ; 
And yet so changed and pale their hue, 
It seemed they left their joyous look 
Among the shadows they forsook. 
Once bright and warm, now cold and grey 
Glooms forth the white magnolia ; 
An ominous light the myrtle throws ; 
A leaden look is in the eye 
Of the o'er- blazed anemony ; 
A look of languor on the rose : 
The jasmine frowns with starry brows 
Along the wall ; — the clematis 
Flings wildly to the night-wind's kiss 
Its pallid tendrils, light and free, 
A ghostly splendour filled the boughs 
Of every waving orange tree. 
It seemed to more than Marco's eye 
fSome feverish motion in the sky 
Made all those flowers so dull and sere. 
And coloured that wan atmosphere. 
But few were there had time to gaze, 
And save light jests among the maze, 
Of circling dances gaily given, 
Marked none the marvel of the heaven. 

The hour drew on — and Marco's breath 
Grew hard — his lip more pale than death, 
When gliding through the careless throng, 
Enamoured of some breathless song, 



22 THE BRIDAL OF RAVENNA. 

Into a dimly-curtained nook 
His stealthy way in haste he took, 
Where 'neath an arch of fretted stone 
He stood to watch the moon alone. 

Is he too late ? — a strange dark shroud 
Is on her face — no summer cloud ! 
A wild unearthly gloom is there, 
No passing film of murky air ! 
A shade most like that shade obscure 
That mortal things must all endure, 
Which spares the likeness to erase 
The mind and meaning of the face ! 
Is he too late ? A dazzling thread 
Yet lives upon the eastern rim — 
Grows momently that light more dead, 
'Tis midnight ! — and the whole is dim. 
Then Marco from his dark retreat 
Sprang forth ; — as on some jest intent, 
He crossed the hall with footsteps fleet, 
And low before his bride he bent ; 
With frolic glance he prayed a boon, 
'Tis granted, and he led her forth ; — 
They leave the gaily-lit saloon, 
They stand beneath the darkened moon ; 
With what wild flights of careless mirth. 
As on they press and forth they fare. 
Frets that gay throng the quiet air 
And the deep-sleeping earth ! 



THE BRIDAL OF RAVENNA. 23 

All eyes were upward turned save two 
And whither they ? Fair Lyra knew. 
" Forgive me, O my life ! my Heaven!" 
He whispered : gladly Lyra heard ; 
She deemed he meant that hasty word, 
And answered, '' Love, thou art forgiven !" 
Then one long kiss he claimed and won, 
His first — his last ! — and he was gone ! 
And though his presence Lyra missed, 
She deemed not of that fatal tryst. 
But thought among his guests he paid 
Some needful service ill delayed. 

With fleetest foot Ser Marco trod 
O'er terrace, stair, and velvet sod : 
The lights behind his course were lost 
As bower and sward in turn he crossed ; 
But still so near the spot he sought 
The laughter to his ear was brought. 
At length before the dome he stood 
Where slept the heroes of his blood ; 
The stone above, the yews around. 
Not wrapt in quiet more profound. 
To Marco's eye the spot seemed bright, 
With somewhat of a spectral light. 
So clear the dome its wan shade threw 
On those dark boughs of stately yew. 
In awe he bent a moment's space 
Before the spirit of the place ; 
Then thought of his endangered love ; 



24 THE BRIDAL OF RAVENNA. 

And threading hastily the grove, 
Stood before Sylvia face to face. 

Upon a stone o'ercrept with moss 
She sate — her features told the loss 
Of youth, and health gone long before, 
And there it seemed some deadly cross 
Had passed and wrought what never more 
Might youth or love or health restore. 
With something of a sybil look 
Her staff upon the stone she strook. 
And, moving nearer to the tomb, 
For Marco at her side made room. 
No word was utter 'd as they sate : 
The love, the fear, the mortal hate 
Were quenched in silence for a while ; 
Then slowly, with a darkening smile 
That curled her features fiercely fair, 
And in her eye an aspic glare, 
Her arm round Marco's waist she passed, 
Her arm, but not her arm alone : 
No statue on its base of stone 
Was ever fixed more fast ! 
In vain he strives — for brazen bands 
Have clasped upon his waist and hands. 

" Now, prisoner, hear ! my love, of old, 
And still my love, if all be told, • 
And why dissemble ? Prisoner dear. 
And but for thy sake prisoner, 



THE BRIDAL OF RAVENNA. 

Now hear me ! In Ravenna's wood 

How thou hast knelt and sung and sued 

Bethink thee ; — let those eves of joy 

Return, and be again a boy ! 

Think of those eves, — the stars that shone 

While we pursued our path alone ; 

Think of the fragrant dews that rose 

To meet the odours from the bousrh : 

And think of every flower that glows 

Unheeded in that shelter now : 

Think of it all — that blissful moon 

That sparkled through those leaves of gold ; 

And see her now ! — I know full soon 

She will rekindle as of old 

To one of us — my wrongs were loth 

(My love how glad) to say to both ; 

Think of all this and why it ceased, 

Why fell the glory from the bough, 

Why "wanly as yon orb diseased 

My moon of life shines alway now ; 

Think of it all ! — thy love that died, 

My love that ever must remain, 

Then think that still the forest side 

May echo to that mirth again, — 

May — if thou will'st — that what thy guilt 

Hath levelled may be yet rebuilt ; 

Think that the memory of thy crime. 

Which }jet, I know, at eventime. 

When the chestnut odours float about, 

And all those well known stars are out. 



26 THE BRIDAL OF RAVENNA. 

Grows dark about thy heart, to dull 
The brig"ht, and blast the beautiful ; 
That all this wound may yet grow o'er, 
• And both be happy as before : 
Think, then, think slowly, and decide, 
If thou hast courage to resign 
This frozen love, this pallid bride, 
And once again be mine, but mine ! " 

111 weened the dame how that last word 
Would steel the soul of him that heard : 
His cheek had changed with every tone. 
And with the last, it seemed, to stone. 
In memory's depths beneath the spell 
The pleasant past had shone, how well ! 
His wild first love, — his childhood's joy, — 
The bliss that hung about the boy ; 
And Sylvia's self as then she shone, 
A glory which unto the earth 
Had come, yet seemed her native throne^ 
The privilege of loftier birth, 
To hold, and but be here a space. 
While yet the Heaven prepared her place ; 
That Sylvia yet was at his side 
Whom boyhood's passion glorified ; 
And who should save him once again 
From yielding to the siren's strain ? 
The assailant lent him his defence, 
He thought of Lyra's innocence : 
And as he thought, stirred Memory's waves 



THE BRIDAL OF RAVENNA. 27 

Fell back in silence to their caves ; 
And then he raised bis burning cheek, 
And thus he nerved himself to speak : 

"It cannot be ! " — the words fell forth 
Upon the air like lead on earth ; — 
" It cannot be!" — her moisten'd eye 
Grew hard and brighter as he spoke — 
"It cannot be, — although I die, 
My Lyra." — Forth the tempest broke : 
*' Enough!" she cried, — " no more ! — and I 
At last am lightened from the yoke ! 
Now watch, — watch well — as well as thou 
Couldst watch the tryst thou keepest now. 
Poor, blind, caged fool, that saw'st the snare 
Spread for thee, yet art captive there ! " 
She clapped her hands — with silent foot 
Stood at her side the Nubian mute. 
Then calmly from her girdle's fold 
A fragrant box of carven gold 
She drew, and to the tongueless slave 
A folded paper thence she gave. 
She spake no word of death or doom, 
She only said, — " Thou know'st for whom !" 

No notice ta'en, no farewell said, 
She pass'd away ; the lamp she bore 
Lay in its ashes sere and dead : 
No matter ! Marco saw no more ; 
Like some cut plant that falls and dies 



28 THE BRIDAL OF RAVENNA. 

Across a lustier branch, he hes, 
A drooping weig-ht upon the bands 
That held his waist and lifeless hands. 

Meanwhile among the myrtles blooming 
That giddy rout pursued their way ; 
The scents the midnight air perfuming, 
Not lighter than their hearts and they : 
Who'll tell the terror and dismay 
That filled the crowd of late so gay. 
When servants hither, thither sent 
By Lyra's fearful discontent, 
Threaded the throng all round and round, 
And absent Marco was not found ? 
Through portals wide the anxious tide 
Poured back into the festal rooms ; 
To Lyra's sight not all that light 
The chambers' empty space illumes : 
A sickening doubt, a freezing thrill, 
A deadly sense of coming ill. 
Checks every vein, and binds the breath 
In languor well nigh deep as death ; 
And but her brother's arm upbore, 
The bride had fallen upon the floor. 

Upon a couch young Servio placed 
His fainting sister still embraced ; 
Then came the prayers, advice, commands, 
Scents, waters from a hundred hands ; 
From whose doth eas-er Servio take 



THE BRIDAL OF RAVENNA. 29 

The draught her deadly thirst to slake ? 
Whose are those eyes of stifled rage 
Fierce as the tiger's in his cage ? 
— Serendib's, Sylvia's tongueless page ! 

But whose that shriek that fills the air 
With the fierce music of despair ? 
'Tis Marco's voice ! but where, oh, where ? 
They sought, they loosed, they led him back, 
It seemed he did not know the track ; 
They brought him to that hall so bright, 
What sees he by that blaze of light ? 
His weeping guests, an empty cup, 
And Lyra's features covered up ! 

Who knows some quiet English home 
Where peaceful pleasures only come, 
Where home-bred joys, like evening flowers, 
Are sweetest in the darkest hours. 
And whose few clouds of undelight 
With hope's glad rainbow still are bright ; 
Is there therein some ardent boy 
Whose soul is sick for fiercer joy, 
Who longs to knit the purple vine 
About his brows in verdant bands, 
And sit beneath the gloomy pine, 
And woo the maids of other lands ; 
And claim in warmer climes than this 
His kindred to the natives there ; 
And soar upon such wings of bliss, 
Or sink into the same despair ; 



30 TPIE BRIDAL OF RAVENNA. 

let him tarry and beware ! 

And be't enough some cousin's hair 

To twine, some sister's lips to kiss ! 

Sweet is the murmur of the lute 

In hands familiar with the chords ; 

And beautiful the vine in fruit ; 

And sweet to hear the lover's suit 

Poured forth in soft Italian words ; 

And yet as sweet the song may be 

Flung lightly from an English bosom ; 

The English lover's tale less free 

As glad to hear ; — the apple tree 

As beautiful in blossom ! 

And let him know, and know in time, 

While longing for those brighter bowers. 

How oft the hidden serpent's slime 

Lies deadly on the fairest flowers ; 

And if too trite such words as these 

To overcome his fancy's ease, 

O let him think, when by the hearth 

He sits upon some Christmas eve, 

And round him beams that peaceful mirth 

Which he with home must leave ; 

When glad without as those within, 

The village troop beside the door 

Their carol sing, their guerdon win. 

Yet happier still than poor ; 

There let him think, if he would miss 

A single hour of this true bliss. 

Such dangerous raptures to essay 

As Marco, Lyra, Sylvia. 



MNEMEION 



Alitis in ])arv2e * * * * collecta figuram, 
Qu^ quondam in bustis aut culminibus desertis 
Xocte sedens, serum canit importuna per umbras. 



INTRODUCTORY SONNET. 

Green Hope, and rosy Love, and prickly Passion, 
Pale Peace, and mottled Doubt, and Yellow Fear, 
And black Despair, in fanciful mourner's fashion 
Are wrought by me into a garland here ; 
A chaplet for the brows of my cold Love, 
Whereof, the body dead, the soul yet liveth ; 
Or else to hang in mindful state above 
The secret grave which all dead things receiveth 
So that the comers-by may look thereon 
And say, ' Of price was that which here decayeth. 
For much more love than best encarven stone 
This uncouth twine of common flowers betrayeth.' 
Wherefore because it blooms for memory, 
Mnemeion naming it, I would it so might be. 



MNEMEION. 



Tarry, soft west-wind journeying from the sea 
To the green midland shades, and hear a boon 
Which a fond fancy-stricken prays of thee ! 
Abide, abide and list, O lady Moon, 
That walkest slowly with thy golden shoon 
The immortal paths ! — O hear me, gentle May, 
Wreathing thy tresses with sweet thefts from 

June! — 

« 

And ye, blue dancing waters, O delay 
A little space ere yet ye hasten on your way ! 

Now over garden walls come sweet mild smells, 
Like the free notes of prisoned birds ; and bees 
Sway lightly in the balanced lily bells ; 
And pearly spires upon the chesnut trees 
Shoot up ; and gently in the loitering breeze, 
That lazily wandering down the roofed walks 
(As 'twere a lover) takes a moody ease, 
Golden laburnums shake their pendant stalks ; 
And in a soft spring voice the crystal runnel talks. 

The grass is cool to him who rests thereon. 
And if a man one midnight there should lie,— 



MNEMEION. 35 

One short spring midnight, — when the slant 

dawn shone, 
Lost were to him the purple eastern sky ; 
A wall of grass, uplifted gradually 
To night's soft music, were about his head, 
Nor aught of earth might that glad prisoner spy 
Save his green bound, wherethro' is blithely shed 
A hum of happy things, whose loves are being sped. 

And now, O Nature, hear me what I pray ! 
Run not thou by, until thy ministers, — 
Flowers, winds, yon lustrous moon, and the soft 

play 

Of flashing waves, and every thing that stirs 
Unto fj>rgetting of the primal curse, 
Have won my love, like me, to meet the night ; 
So, as in my heart, it m'ay be, in hers 
Sweet Nature winning, she may half requite 
Mine unrewarded care, if not with words, with sight. 



II. 



One more look on thee, love, before I slumber ! 
That I may dream and in my sleep be blest, 
Counting the dewy ringlets without number 
By which thy delicate temples are caressed. 
One more ! — a very short one, loveliest. 
For fear I sleep not, and my heated brain 
Too deeply with thine image be impressed, — ■ 



36 MNEMEION. 

And how should that be ? — And how not ? again, 
Ah me ! I am a fool twisting a doubled chain. 

True, I will see thee in my dreams to-night. 
How shall it be, love ? As the young-eyed 

Spring 
Set in a sweet air of the tender light 
Of wood-walks when the limes are blossoming, 
And the mute throat of every creeping thing 
Fills with a chirp of love ? Or wilt thou be 
A spirit alit on earth, whose ears yet ring 
With the spheres' music, in the mystery 
Of a new world astray — is this how thou wilt be ? 

I'll give thee wings — a rosy pair of pipions 
Softer than cushion young love's way athwart 
The yielding ether's summer-soothed dominions 
When he brings pity to some mourning heart. 
And hued like infant's cheeks when the lips part 
In mild day-slumber ; such, so soft and fair, 
The wings I will provide thee by mine art ; 
Tell me, wilt kiss me, love, for such a pair? 
Nay, lady chaste and proud, thou art too froward 
there ! 

Or I'll imagine thee a new-scaped soul 
Yet betwixt earth and heaven, and thou shalt swim 
On filmy clouds whose opal wreaths shall roll 
Round thee, like music round the cherubim : — 
Upward, and upward, till thine eyes wax dim 



MNEMEION. 37 

And dewy with the bliss for ever growing, 
Shalt thou float softly, till the immortal hymn 
Enter thine ears, and heaven's own roof be 
glowing 
O'er thee from glory still to inner glory going. 

Or stay ! — a Lamb I will devise thee rather, 
A snow-white feeder in some elmy nook, 
For whom a band of children small shall gather 
Pale flowers, the nurslings of some gentle brook, 
Such tints as earth pour'd when the first sun 

strook 
Her bosom from the flood set newly free, 
And she arose unto the light (2) and shook 
The flood-drift from her face, — all such for thee 
Patiently lying still, in love shall gathered be. 

Or say, wilt rather as a Dove be nested 
In the soft umbrage of a willow tree, 
While round thee, by the saucy breeze molested, 
The (3) green leaves whiten ever restlessly. 
As a bird's breast is ruffled, or the sea 
Frowardly cresting to the south wind's kisses ; 
There wilt thou lie half sleepy, while the free 
Wind peeping on thee now and then addresses 
A soft speech to thine ear and some few kind ca- 
resses ? 

Or shall the waters be a silver way 
Which thou shalt honour as a regal Swan ; 



38 MNEMEION. 

A creature like the Spirit of the Day ; 
Or some proud visiter from ages gone, 
Whose crest its crown of praise bears calmly on 
Down the stirred waters of a thousand years, — 
So on the azure waves all white and wan. 
Shall thy pure beauty pay the heart's arrears 
Of joy delay'd or lost, and recompense for tears? 

Or stay ! O fancy, lend me but thy fingers 
To pluck yon star from the irradiate blue ! — 
Yon lovely star ! — amid the clouds it lingers, 
The darling of the heavens, where the faint hue 
Of the cloud is tricksiest and the sky most blue. 
Rosy and tremulous, now the bashful Splendour 
Faints and is lost ; — and now 'tis bright anew, 
O richest heaven ! O greedy depths 1 surrender 
That Star for my love's masque, so passing pure and 
tender ! 

love, how fondly from these frolic dreams 

1 come to thee again ! — thy human eyes 
Are dearer than a thousand starry beams ; 
If I say fairer also, who denies ? 

Yet as a wave in fondness multiplies 
The image of the flower it loves the best. 
My fancy dallies with the shape that lies 
Most loved and deepest printed on my breast. 
And thou art she — that shape, my own ! my love- 
liest ! 



MNEMEION. 39 

Therefore I figure thee a Swan, a Dove, 
A Star — nay, any thing as fancy changes ; 
And as a child I play with my sweet love ; 
Dressing it up as fickle humour ranges ; 
And no wild masque, however strange, estranges 
Thy true looks from me — say, thou art a Star, 
I see thine eye, — a Dove, the flickering changes 
Of thy stirred locks, — a Swan, thy gracious air ; 
Somehow I picture thee in all things pure and fair ! 



III. 



Easy it is for them whose hearts are light 
With answered love undoubtful, to declare, 
Sitting beside her on the summer night. 
The pain which for their lady's sake they bear ; 
Knowing that she will toss her ringed hair 
Upon their upturn'd eyes in bashful play, 
But far, far different 'tis for me who bear 
Cold words unperished in my breast alway. 
To chill my dreams by night — to chill my thoughts 
by day. 

There is much prudence in the world, I know ; 
And many a one hath said that thou didst well 
The heart that dared so early buds to shew 
AVith the cold frosting of thy frowns to quell ; — 
And told in pride the evil day that fell 



40 MNEMEION. 

On souls too early mated, — heart-warmth spent 
Ere the sharp winter times unshunnable 
Came o'er the downy cheek, or discontent 
Far worse, of struggling hearts with later passion 
bent. 

I cannot reason, love, with such as these : 
I cannot think of hearts like thine and mine 
With the pure spring of unstrained sympathies 
O'erfilled and sated ; — nor conceive the shrine 
Where now in simpleness and grace divine 
Our Virgin Love is set, all throned and crowned, 
To the foul worship of an idol sign 
Estranged, before whose face upon the ground 
Drunk with habitual crime, meek conscience lieth 
bound. 

Listen, love, listen to the fondling sea ! 
How to his cradled islets half-awake 
He whispers of the wondrous things that be 
Hid in his bosom ; how the great Sea-drake 
With lithe, enringed neck his path doth make 
Among the yielding mosses lank and soft 
Which line the deep ; or how a vast ship's wake 
Will send a white and flickering shade full oft 
A cross the grey sea-floor, glimmering from far aloft. 

Or listen to the woods, — how each to each 
The wedded boughs of interwoven pines (4) 
Do mutter peacefully a gentle speech : 



MNEMEION. 41 

And fond festoons of wild unberried vines 
Thrill audibly through all their thousand twines 
For the deep love that binds them ; and the leaves 
Of nearing- elms a mute response of signs 
Yield, as the lovelorn bird his voice upheaves, 
Mounting, as a climber strong, the shelfless, chal- 
ken cleaves. 

Or look on mother earth with her green vest 

Folded about her, as her head is bent 

In the mild majesty of perfect rest ; 

And breath so pure 'twould seem a wandering 

scent 
From the pure stars so delicately shent 
Upon the purple heaven, and not a boon 
Made up of all her many treasures blent, 
Young buds, quick waters, sweating leaves of 

June, 
And trails of long white flowers blossoming aneath 

the moon. 

Now, love, as these are, is thy heart and mine, 
Calm and yet lifeful, — still, yet full of love ; 
For purity and passion in one twine 
Commingled bind us both, and from above. 
Below, around, on stealthy pinions move 
All influences of the world, — the main 
Paternal, and the motherly earth, the grove 
In spousal bondage knitted, to complain 
That we bend not, as they, to nature's three-linked 
chain. 



42 MNEMEION. 



IV. 



Now with this lovely eve comes back to thee 
The heart, an idle truant all day long ; 
Call it no rebel, though sometimes it flee : 
No ! sweet the bondage as the chain is strong. 
But in the elbowings of the noisy throng 
There is no calm for holiness like thine. 
There is no issue for the murmurous song ; 
And 'twere not nature for a love like mine 
To shew its buds where all their scentless garlands 
twine. 

Then thou art left within my heart's recesses, 
As is a Relic in its shrine of gold, 
Which from its sacred privacy impresses 
A holier awe than aught which we behold ; 
So lies thine image in my heart's safe fold 
When day with its thick din of unknown tongues 
Confuses the jarred spirit ; — when the wold 
Grows shadowy, and the tumult of rude songs 
Is hushed, — oh ! then to thee the unchallenged hour 
belongs. 

But now 'tis ceasing, the rude noise of day : — 
Its clouds are breaking from yon hilly chain, 
i^nd, wreath by wreath, the dim mists curl away 



MNEMEION. 43 

And yon uncovered summit wears again 
Its crest of nodding trees : and the long plain 
Stretches below it, calm and clear and green, 
Which all day long with reeking streams of rain 
Lay like a lake at evening ; all the scene 
Lies bare that was but caught the rolling haze be- 
tween. 

The sky grows clear and diamond-pure and bright 
Up to its crown ; and in the dewy west 
The hills stand black against the rosy light, 
Like Life's dark years on Fancy's sky imprest ; 
And the far east is drawing on its vest 
Of shadow, and makes ready for the dark ; 
And overhead full many a timid guest 
Scarce ventures on the eye, a tremulous spark, 
Which upon midnight's brow will stand, a burning 
mark. 

Now look !— One flash ! 'Tis past. The dark- 
ness throws 
Each moment a new shade upon the air — 
Upon the stars new fire. Again it goes 
Dancing along the hill-tops, fierce and fair 
The arrowy lightning-flash. Behind the glare 
The sky grows sickly-pale ; the earth below 
Gleams like some subterranean land laid bare, 
Red with black shadows. Ever to and fro 
Run on the burthened air faint moaning murmurs 
low. 



44 MNEMEION. 

Like spirits' voices in their prisons, are 
The sounds — a discontented dismal song ; 
And earth lies still in awe, and every star 
Trembles in heaven as they pass along*. 
And all the music of the heavenly throng 
(Not heard on earth, though well perceived to be^ 
We feel, is silent, — as some passion strong 
Will still the inarticulate melody 
Which dwells in human hearts, as motion in the sea. 

Now how with every shade on Nature's cheek 
Is link'd some thought of thee ! Morn, noon and 

night 
With sun and moon and sunny stars all speak 
Some token of love's pain or love's delight ; 
So justly unto thee doth Earth requite 
The joy to thee and thy fair beauty owing ; 
And now this lightning flash its livid light 
Down the great depths of recollection throwing. 
Lights up one little gem, as daylight warm and 

glowing. 

'Twas thus. Dost mind one sultry summer eve 
When thou and T, like children, as we were. 
Sate still to see the restless lightnings cleave 
The insensate blackness of the upper air ? 
Long time upon the imbowered garden chair 
We sate, betwixt the trails of hanging bells. 
Watching the silent fires dart every where. 
And fade and flicker, as a flood that swells 
And ebbs in turn, all down the darkened dells. 



MNEMEION. 45 

Dost mind how the black rifts and in the fern 
The jagged teeth of rock would suddenly shine 
Like pillars and deep wells of fire in turn ; 
The while the trees with wan sad light divine 
Glimmered, a ghastly crowd— sepulchral pine 
And monumental oak ablaze together ; 
And the still water glanced, a burning line, 
From us to where 'twas quench'd by the black 

ether, — 
Love, dost thou mind that eve of sultry summer 

weather ? 

Then mind this too : awhile the silent flashes 
Played lightly, broad and harmless — then a sound 
As 'twere the echoes of a thousand crashes 
Of mountain-summits tumbling all around 
Brake out, as one blue crooked flame i' th' ground 
(Just at our feet it seemed) did root its blaze, 
A tree of fire ! (5) — but thou, love, in a swound 
Of fear, didst clasp me in a close embrace, 
Hiding at my fond heart thy cold discoloured face. 

I tell thee not how throbbed my startled heart 
Within her cave at that unlooked-for guest ; 
How hope's closed doors were suddenly flung 

apart ; — 
I tell not how at memory's still behest 
Came flying (fairy troop) unto my breast 
From the illuminate air of other years 
A thousand passages of regard, — request, 



46 MNEMEION. 

Remembrance, look, word, accent ; each appears 
Like a sweet soft-eyed bird borne from serener 
spheres. 

And as from some lit wood of tenderest green 
The birds at sunrise hurry to the sun, 
So from the covert of the deep Has-been 
Trooped thither those glad memories, many a one : 
Oh ! lady, what a lovely unison 
Their mingled voices made : the rosy domes 
O' th' foxglove echo no serener tone 
When fairies feast — no mightier music comes 
From the ^olian winds, locked in their rocky 
homes. 



Nay, find not heart to say that word * begone ! ' 
No — let me read it, if it must be read, 
In thy most voiceful eyes. 'Tis done, 'tis done ! 
And now in peace from very deepness bred 
Of my great loss, I quietly am led 
From the dead presence of my mighty woe. 
Even like a speechless Parent from the bed 
Where his best flower in sudden overthrow 
Lies like a perishing shape of unsubstantial snow. 



MNEMEION. 47 

Now is earth changed and heaven : — in the track 
Where the stars ride along the bending sky, 
Dark shapes are set in council — on the black 
In blacker blackness shadowed, I espy 
Fierce scowling feature and enthralling eye, 
And on myself is every look bent down ; 
I could believe that devils reigned on high, 
And sate on watch with that malignant frown 
To drive the hopeful back, to keep the despairing 
down. 

Beautiful stars, with your eternal wreath 
Binding the forehead of the midnight sky ! 
Moon, on thy central throne ! and thou, sweet 

breath 
Of earth's first murmurous slumber, stealingly 
Frosting the bright blue vault ; O tell me why 
Doth such strange power to human hearts belong. 
That one tone there of doubtful harmony. 
One string, as now this one in mine, set wrong, 
Can break with that faint jar all Heaven's accordant 

song? 

On ! on ! — and wherefore on ? Like one whose 

tread 
Is down a gloomy rent betwixt great hills 
Which join their butting fronts above his head, 
So look I down mine avenue of ills ; 
Save that a darker dread ray bosom fills ; 



48 MNEMEION. 

Save that for me no spark of lovely light 
Shines starlike at its end, but blind depth chills 
The sickening heart and feeble, shrinking sight 
At that unshelved abyss of hopeless, endless night. 

Hist ! hist ! — the music ! 'Now the melody 
Walks, like a conqueror, up the silent air, 
That quivers to his footstep, as the sea 
That trembles when the tyrannous winds walk 

there. 
And now again with soothing whisper fair 
*Twould seem it deftly won a willing way 
Across the flattered deeps, whose waves upbear 
Now with fond art his frolicsome delay, 
As erst in dread they cowered beneath his fiercer 
sway. 

And now *tis gone ! — the echoes to their caves 
Have slunk, like truant children ; and the air 
Hath gathered into rest its thousand waves. 
And now " the presence of my great despair" 
Flings once again its shadow every where, 
Ev'n as before. momentary gleam ! 
Mocking the darkness 'tis my lot to bear, 
Come not again with thy deluding beam, 
To make my night of fate more dark and hideous 
seem. 

And now again, O moon, and stars, and sky ! 



MNEMEION. 49 

Ye islet clouds ! — thou ether-sea between ! 
And ye, green trees, who knit your boughs on 

high, 
Making a pillared aisle across the green ; 
Yea ! all thou earth so holy and serene, 
Scarce breathing for deep sleep that locks thee in, 
And music, fit companion of such scene. 
Why are ye fair, if this small heart within 
From all your soothing spells such easy freedom 
win? 



VI. 



Yea ! a strange thing is this our human heart. 
And like a lute, which jars, or in shaped words 
Yields its sweet soul, as ignorance or art 
Nicely or rudely stirs the fickle chords ; 
So our coy breast its joy or pain affords, 
As with attent beseechings and soft prayers, 
Or the harsh fingering of unkindly words, 
Men, or ourselves, require its gentle airs, 
Wherewith to link our joys or drown our noisy cares. 

Yet not alone are human fingers free 
To wake its subtle music. Nature's hand 
Will oft-times win it to a gentle glee. 
Which mortal artist may in vain demand ; 

E 



50 MNEMEION. 

And oft recal it to a tone more bland, 

When strained by man to discord. So, sweet 

breeze, 
Child of so fair an evening, hast thou fanned 
My thrilling heart to something nearer peace, 
Though I could yet be glad its notes might wholly 
cease ! 

And yet 'tis treason to so fair an even 
Such words to utter, or such wish to keep ! 
I do repent me, glowing cope of heaven. 
Before thy beauty bending, not to weep. 
Though I were fain, so clearly in the deep 
Of mine own soul is thy sad loveliness 
Reflected, mingling in its tideless sleep 
Like a sweet, sorrowful dream ; yet not the less 
Sweet, that 'tis full of tears and tearful tenderness. 

Aye ! 'tis the fitter that, in looking round me. 
Earth, sea, and sky should all alike produce 
But fresh mementoes that the chain hath bound me 
Which mortal finger may no more unloose. 
The moon, encircled with her silver dews, 
Looks down in tears upon the mournful sea ; 
And earth with dim and shadowy smile pursues 
Her own sad thoughts, the saddest of the three, — 
Sisters in one strait bond of sorrowfullest sympathy. 

Now wherefore is it that the mute world changes 
Ev'n as we change ? — that we must ever fling. 



MNEMEION. 51 

From grief to grief as our vexed spirit ranges, 
Our own black shadow on each happy thing,— 
Throw darkness on the lustrous eye of Spring, 
And with the echo of our own sad voices 
Instruct the little summer birds to sing, 
And dull with our grave tread all merry noises 
At which old Autumn laughs, and Winter's self 
rejoices ? 

So if the moon, most like a stranded boat. 
Lies bedded in the solid-seeming blue, 
Ever I read the emblem, and I note 
My own sunk heart enshadowed in the view ; 
Or if the stars be thin and pale and few 
Upon the desert firmament, I yield 
To that sad picture still a meaning due, 
And deem I see my own life's barren field 
Starred with a few faint flowers, low, dim, and half- 
concealed. 

Or if, more bright than at the host's assembling 
To the black banner of the still midnight, 
Just at eve's fall, the crystal heavens are trem- 
bling 
Round the lone lustre of one glorious light, 
Then, — then, oh, how may I aread the sight ? 
Thou knowest, who hast been to my life's sky 
What that star is to heaven, — yet none aright 
Can tell its comfort while it sate on high, 
And none the horror of its fading off but I, 



52 MKEMEION. 

Thus ever back to thee, sweet Fount forbidden, 
The river of my thoughts will fondly glide ; 
Its waves with lustre from thy light beridden, 
Its flood with waters from thy depth supplied : 
Glassing no loveliness within its tide. 
But overflowing with indwelling light, 
Thus on it rushes in its lonely pride 
Through herbless banks, beneath a starless night, 
Yet ever from its source made pure and clear and 
bright ! 

'Tis a proud spectacle a lonely river 
Beneath a weight of black and sensible air 
Forcing his strong resistless way for ever : 
'Tis a proud sight, " when all the heavens are 

bare," 
To see the moon so queenly cold and fair 
In uncompanioned might ride sternly on : 
'Tis proud to watch the Sun's strong arm down- 
bear 
The writhing clouds : but there is pride in none 
As in a mortal man who walks through life alone. 

Let such a one — and such a one am I, 

And thou hast made me so — where Earth is set 

Crowned with the crown of all her majesty. 

There let him stand — yet may he not forget 

His pride, nor vail his fading coronet 

One instant to the imperishable crown ! 



MNEMEION. 53 

Or let him go where all the hosts are met 
On the thronged sky, — and he will not bend down 
Nor loose one iron link of his eternal frown ! 

Then having thus bemocked the earth and sky, 
Go, set him on an island in the main, 
Where the great sea may gaze with terrible eye 
Into his heart of hearts, — and note again 
With what a proud and masterful disdain 
The unconquerable soul will hold its own ; 
He will but closer to his bosom strain 
The mail whereto his festered flesh hath grown, 
So mighty is his will to do and be alone ! 

Aye ! so it is ! — yet 'twas not always so : 
I can remember yet the summer eves, 
When I have kneeled unto the rosy glow. 
Which lay, like love, upon the breathless leaves, 
And the green grass, and the encrimsoned 

cleaves. 
And the long waves that could not break for 

pleasure. 
And the lit windows under far white eaves. 
And bright sand glittering like a golden trea^ 

sure, 
And all that filled brimful my boyhood's mighty 

measure. 

And not the summer eves alone could win 
My heart to worship, but amid the still 



54 MNEMEION. 

Of middle noon, when earth for bliss holds in 
Her breath, a sudden rushing rapturous thrill 
My bursting veins with running flame would 

fill; 
So, drunk with joy, I would close up my eyes 
Till little bird, light leaf, and pattering rill. 
With gentle force that silence would surprise, 
And swell their mingled din up to the throbbing 

skies. 

And when the moon with light most rich and 

tender 
Filled the abysses of the purple sky, 
My soul seemed sharer of the golden splendour, 
Filled and o'erflooded with as warm a dye : 
And through its chillest depths and caves most 

shy 
(Though none as yet were wholly cold or dark) 
The cheerful lustre ran as suddenly, 
And in that light the kindly eye might mark 
A few warm hopes that flashed with faint uncertain 

spark. 

And when the round October sun, surprising 
The laggard stars with his more glorious beams. 
Kept on the splendours of his red uprising 
Till day, half-spent, lay down to silent dreams 
Of yellow woods and brimmed autumnal streams, 
And woke again at even to the sound 
Of harvest's ending song, and groaning teams 



MNEMEION. 55 



Dragging the wains with rich ripe sheaves en- 
crowned, 
And merry boys and maids that danced and 
lauorhed around, — 



'O' 



Then I could laugh and sing, I well remember, 
As one of them. Or when the moonlight flowing 
O'er the white countenance of dead December 
Lit the blank face and rigid eyelid, showing 
The few faint flowers whose sad sepulchral glow- 
ing 
Shed a thin radiance round the snowy brow, — 
My blood would tarry in its warm outgoing, 
And falling back with silent lapse and slow, 
Drown my still heart within in a deep flood of woe. 

But it is past, the sweet and soft surrender 
Of soul and body to this world's delight ; 
No more I warm me in the sunny splendour. 
No more refresh me in the dews of night ; 
It is as though a sudden scaly blight 
Had come on every flower, and plant, and tree; 
As on that noon which filled with ashes white 
The green Pompeian gardens, when the sea 
Fled, and the Italian mount reeled in its agony 



56 MNEMEION. 



VII. 



That is thy star, fair girl ! — I love it best 
Of all the hosts that in the spangled sky ^ 

Walk to and fro, or in a stately rest 
Keep their unchanging thrones eternally. 
Look ! 'twill not shun thee, for its lustrous eye 
May not be veiled beneath a drooping lid, 
Like thine, fair girl ! when maiden fancies shy 
Call up the wakeful blood, as once they did 
When I, fond fool ! out-blabbed what I had best 
have hid. 

Yet not for this I love it best, 1 ween ! 
No ! if 'twere dull and dark, not bright and clear, 
And as a very Angel's eye serene, 
In darkness and in dulness 'twere as dear ; 
For it hath stronger ties to me than seer 
Versed in the starry laws hath ever read. 
For mortal birth-linked to its wayward sphere, 
I am no striver with a fate I dread,— 
I locked a chain myself, and by that chain am led. 

Bethink thee of that fair and sunny eve 
When we sate prating of all careless things, 
Thou carelessly, but I to joy or grieve 
In deeming I espied the secret springs 
Whence such and such words flowed — as monish- 



MNEMEION. 57 

Or maidenly encouragement designed ; 
Nay, thou forget'st, but I — the memory clings 
To my fond heart, as to the longing mind 
Of banished men, the last green peak they left 
behind. 

One crowned star sate all alone on high : 
Like one that thinketh, sate she still upon 
Thedark, dark Heavens, and all the archingsky 
Was silent for her thought who sate alone : 
No murmur and no shout, no unison 
Of loud and gentle vex'd her solitude, 
But earth obedient watch'd her steady throne, 
And though she spake no word, her silent mood 
All restless things below to her own rest subdued. 

Glorious it was to peer into her face ! 
So beaming and benignant was its look. 
One could almost have deem'd that gentle grace 
From some reflected earthly gaze it took ! 
Dewy and sad, as shining in a brook 
Or stilly pool, when summer mists are grey ; 
At first it smiled upon us, then it shook 
And trembled, with strong passion ye would say, 
Then shot forth one wild gleam, then utterly died 
away! 

O then how blank was all that gleaming sky, 
Emptied of all its glory — by her flight 
Made dead, as some fair body when the eye 



58 MNEMEION. 

Hides in death's shadows its enlivening" light. 
Then did we feel how dread a thing is Night ; 
And not the deep coerulean abysses, 
Baring their unfathomable g-ulfs to sight 
Could win us not to mingle with our blisses 
Some few regretful tears and cold misgiving kisses. 

Then faltered some few stars into the blue : 
The evening*-star far off hung low and bright 
And purple as a drop of morning dew. 
And then the sparkles of eternal light 
Swam over all, flushing the drear (6) blank height 
With beauty as of blossoms on a bough, 
Yet ever longed I for another sight 
Of that so wondrous shiner which but now 
Was flung so scornfully off from Heaven's yet rosy 
brow. 

Then kneeled I down, and with a burning prayer 
(I know not if to thee or Heaven I prayed) 
Asked, that as long as on the summer air 
That golden castaway should rise and fade, 
I might remember that sweet evening shade 
And thy most lovely face, although in tears 
And beauty perishing as the stars arrayed ; 
So, rising on me with the rising spheres. 
That night should still shine bright down all the 
depth of years. 



Such boon in lover's confidence I sought 



MNEMEION. 59 

Unwitting of the portent : — but a languor 
Paled suddenly the fainting stars, methought ; 
And then the choleric wind in sudden anger 
Veiled up their light ; and lo ! a brazen clangour, 
As of the innumerable orbs wheeling away, 
Rano- from behind the darkness : — such an ang'er 
Plagued Heaven and allthe hosts that I should pray 
A boon of bliss so far beyond what mortal may. 

Such sudden shudder ran all nature through ; 
Yet was it granted, though with pain like this, 
And strivina: such as shook the han2:ino;' dew 
From night's black cope before its time, I wis. 
Yet for the poison mingled with the bliss 
'Twas granted, not for blessing : — so that I 
Might ever with it think how happiness 
Off from the face of my young life did die. 
Even as that star fell oft" from that resplendent sky. 

For then full shortly that I deemed thy love, — 
As 'twere a plant at the fall and prime of blowing 
On all the under- branches of the grove. 
One day, a warm and gentle light bestowing, 
The next, a lank and flowerless pillar showing, — 
Shed its scarce budded leaves, bent down, and 

died ; — 
And I grim gloom exchanging for the glowing 
Of thy soft radiance, meaning due supplied 
To the Portentous Star of that sweet Eventide. 



60 MNEMEION. 



VIII. 



The hills stand dark against the setting sun, 
Whose flag yet floats upon the western sky ; 
Amidst the cloudy glory, one by one, 
The glancing stars speed upward steadily ; 
And the young glimmering crescent white and 

shy 
Walks like a spirit in the fading blaze, 
Waxing in brightness as the glories die ; 
And earth more closely wraps her veiling haze 
And stealthy eve coming on, now hurries, now delays. 

In the deep wood I stand as in old days : 
The billows of green boughs wave round me still, 
Above me and around me ; and the rays 
Of the set sun grow chiller and more chill, 
As they were wont of old. Yon ruddy hill 
Wears yet its crown of gloomy elms as then ; 
Yet in my ears runs sweetly the small rill 
Till it grows silent in the peopled glen, 
Shrinking within its moss from the stern eyes of men. 

All is as it was wont to be ; — the flowers 
As gay, the scents as rarely sweet as erst ; — 
The weary eglantine flings down its showers 
Of snowy blossoms gaily to the first 
Sweet shiver of the nightwind ; and a burst 
Of rapturous voices marks the earliest shade ; 



MNEMEION. 61 

And soft green lights gleam thickly interspersed 
Among the mossy banks ; and overhead 
Heaven in its living lamps shines lovelily arrayed. 

O ! the enjoyment that may not be spoken, 
Of which the round moon standing in the blue 
Hath stirred the seal, now — never, to be broken ; 
O the upheaving of the heart to view 
More nearly her whose eye so pierces through 
Our dull earth-crust, that mortal heart upleaps 
To the proud glance as it were made anew, 
To a new word untasted. O dull sleep's 
Best break ! O loftiest spring from the eternal deeps ! 

And yet the blindness of my foolish thought ! 
That I should speak ev'n for a space as though 
No more I knew than ancient Sages taught 
To the eye-worshippers — with all I know ! 
Yet Heaven above me, and the earth below. 
And the magnificence between, shall plead 
My pardon well with Him who made them so. 
O, for my eye's, and not my heart's, misheed. 
In yon unangered sphere my pardon let me read ! 

Blessings be on thee. Crescent Moon ! in number 
As the still stars about thee ! 'Twere a dream 
In sooth to glorify a poet's slumber. 
To think that such indeed they were ; — to deem 
Each sparkle of that deep ethereal stream, 
Which floats about thee, were a visible siofn 



62 MNEMEION. 

Of blessings won from earth,each tremulous gleam 
Shot from each star, a consciousness divine 
Of thanks from human hearts which love their 
light, like mine. 

Fair Host ! — sweet Stars ! in social conclave 

sitting. 
Or singly o'er your azure waste apart 
With flickering wing and throbbing glory flitting, 
Take ye, too, blessings from a grateful heart ; 
And if from their low nest the tear-drops start, — 
Shy birds of night, — 'tis but a curious pain 
To watch the course of Time's deceitful art ; 
To think of bygone eves, a shadowy train ; 
All that comes back so oft yet never comes again ! 



IX. 



Moon, among the scrolled clouds on high, 
Wrapping thine unripe form and maiden smile, 

1 thank thee much, that with another eye 
Thou lookest on me than thou didst erewhile ; — 
Be but thy present gaze as free from guile 

As that thy past one was from joy, and well 
I may repose me on this little isle, 
This small still isle amid the surge's swell. 
Albeit in peace for long I may not hope to dwell. 

And thou too. Light o' my memory ! thou, sweet 
Moon, 



MNEMEION^. 63 

That in the darksome waste of my lorn breast 
Smilest, I thank thee ; — though thy dearest boon 
Be Quiet, which is not, but apeth Rest. 
My heart's high Queen ! my Spirit's Royal guest ! 
Before whose presence other tongues are mute, 
By whose loud calls my soul is else opprest ; — 
Mock-love that trims a faint and jarring lute, 
Ambition pleading^still an unrejected suit. 

Thee would I call — too daringly ; — but years 
Have left their crust upon me, and I bend 
No more as erst to all the tyrant fears 
Which once oppressed me at thy name, sweet 

friend ! 
Thus boldly to thy feet my vows I send — 
Hear me, — though blushes climb into thy cheek, 
Imperial blushes such as did ascend 
To Juno's brow when a mortal dared to seek 
A Godhead's portion — yet, ev'n angered, hear me 



To thee be this as all mine other toils. 
In thee beginning, ending still in thee, — 
Thee, the cold Goddess, at whose shrine the 

spoils 
I lay, in tribute for the victory. 
Trifling the contest and the prize may be, 
And yet not wholly valueless, I deem, 
(Though not to thee, sweet scorner,) yet to me, 



64 MNEMEION. 

If but within thy heart one pleasant dream 
It wake, or on thy cheek one peaceful sunny g-leam. 

Have I not brought to thee in olden time 
Full many offerings, worthless though they be, — 
Weak flowers though budded in a golden clime 
Frail pearls tho' gathered from a deathless sea 
They were my first — I gave them all to thee. 
I may roam farther in that golden land, 
I may dive deeper in that deathless sea, 
Yet thine the undying fruit, and for thy hand 
Whatever wealth I dig from that immortal sand. 

Thou art a thread within my woof of life, 
All golden, running down its storied face ; 
Now hidden for a scene of shame and strife, 
Then freshly glittering in a summer place : 
Nor all unblest my life while I can trace 
That sheeny line, to trouble lending light, 
To pleasure, grandeur, and to calmness, grace. 
Oh, be it ever present to my sight 
As at my dawn of day, at noon, and eve, and night I 

Oh stay, stay ! — dwell with me, joyous Pre- 
sence, 
Sweet Shade, dwell with me ! — sit thou by my side 
In darkest sorrow and in lightest pleasance, 
To share. or shield ; — to heighten or to hide ! 
Soft praises ever to thine ears shall glide ; 
As though I fear'd the spectral shape should fade 



MNEMEION. 65 

If my voice ceased the binding spell that tied 
The bright sky's tenant to our earthly shade, 
So constant, deep, and strong shall my fond prayer 
be made. 

So hear me, Thou, Mine Own, and yet not mine I 
As thou wert she to whom my spirit's might 
Gives its first morning incense, thou shalt shine 
The last faint star upon mine age's night ! 
And not a single wavelet of delight 
Shall roll its feeble tribute unto me, 
But shall bring too thine image to my sight ; 
Welcome for pleasure and for rarity. 
Yet, oh ! commended most by that sweet Shape of 
thee! 



THE MADMAN'S DAY. 

" Aye, if the madman could have leave 
" To pass a healthful day.' 

KE.ATS. 



THE MADMAN'S DAY. 



Without my clothes I went my way; 
From out my father's doors 1 went, 
A savage soul and discontent, 
I could not bear to stay. 
My heart with burning fears was hot ; 
She prayed me, but I heeded not; 
A smothering heat was in my brain, 
A glancing fire in every vein, 
How could I bear to stay ? 

I rushed into the open air ; 
I left the silvery tones beseeching, 
A meeter music I found there — 
The night-owl fiercely screeching : 
A boyish hand was in her nest, — 
How could the kindly creature rest ; 
Her home was downy- walled and white, 
Her children were her sole delight ; 
He fell for fear, the boyish thief, 
His limbs were safe ; — the old yew-tree 
Is scarcely eight feet high ; 
He rose up and fled hastily : 



70 THE madman's day. 

For the horrible sound of the mother's grief 
He fled, and so did I. 



We left the dark churchyard behind ; 

The glimmering" gravestones and the yew : 

We raced between the hedges, twined 

All over with the white corn-bind, 

And hops bestarred with dew. 

His feet were clothed, but mine were bare ; 

[ sprang along as light as air, 

I overtook the urchin soon : 

I made the boy turn up his face, 

That I his features well might trace 

By the shining of the moon. 

My God ! what loveliness was there. 

That childish face so wildly fair ! 

So soft a cheek — so arch an eye — 

Half innocence — half knavery. 

I thought on Mary, and I said, 

' God curse the beauty that is made 

But to betray or be betrayed !' 

So to myself I said. 

The little one seemed half afraid 

Of the naked man who held his arm. 

And muttered so betwixt his teeth, 

And breathed with such a whistling breath ; — 

He thought I spoke some awful charm, 

I knew it, yet I held him there, 

And laid his palm on my hot breast, 

(My heart the while lay still beneath) 



THE MADMAN S DAY. 71 

And thus I made the urchin swear, 

Never again such sin to dare 

As rob a poor bird's nest, 

He swore it in a sweet low tone, 

Half-laughing, wicked little fairy ! 

O, how I wish'd the child my own — 

And who the mother, Maiy ? 

I kissed his cheek, he feared not now. 

His downy cheek, and then his brow ; 

Then loosed my grasp and let him go. 

He ran away until the turn, 

And then his footsteps fell more slow ; 

As one in thought he seemed to go. 

Meanwhile the fire that had run low 

Began again to burn. 

It burned within my brain i O Hell I 

What it was like I cannot tell ; 

I never felt its like I ween ; 

A sparkless, flameless, noiseless heat. 

Yet measured by a leaden beat 

A minute full between. 

I was as one by fiends possest ; • 

My hair ran down with icy sweat, 

Drip, drip upon my burning breast ; 

So cold, it seemed to pierce the skin,^- 

O Jesu Christ, my sin, my sin ! 

O would I could forget ! 

How silent and how strong ! — to hear 

A crackling flame climb up one's limbs, 



■/'i THE MADxMAN's day. 

Feeding its way as up it climbs, 

I think were welcomer 

Than this strong', smothering, silent heat, 

But measured by that fearful beat ! 



1 



Away I ran, no matter where, 

The cold wind bristled in my hair ; 

My members drank the chilly wind, 

My heart in its desire. 

Which had been like a bird confined 

Within a cage of fire. 

Slacked its stretched wings, and sate at ease, 

Hearing the noise of that sweet breeze. 

I thought of home, a peaceful place. 

Of childhood, and my mother's face ; 

Of all the love that was in store 

For me despite my guilty case. 

And them that loved me almost more. 

Because I wanted grace ; 

I thought of nights which had come down 

While we among the shrubbery stood. 

And pure love set his icy crown 

Upon my youthful blood ; 

I thought of noon among the fields 

So quiet when I lay alone ; 

Of sunsets when, like crimson shields, 

The China roses shone 

Upon the eaves, upon the wall. 

And ivy dark betwixt them all. 

All peaceful things rose up again ; 



THE MADMAN S DAY. 73 

The dew of them refreshed my brain ; 
I nearly turned my penitent steps 
To home, and to my mother's joy, 
I saw the quick smile curl her lips 
To meet her darling boy ; 
Her darling, in his sin and shame, 
Her son, her darling son the same. 

Then while with love my heart was soft, 
And blissful sighs broke quick and oft, 
And tears, like dew at summer eves. 
Gathering among the underleaves 
Of waving plants, began to freight 
My eyelids with a balmy weight ; 
Then, suddenly, O Heaven and earth ! 
A shrieking hornblast issued forth — 
As one might be at sunrise where , 
By echoing Heaven surrounded, 
The Prince of all the Powers of Air 
His dread reveillez sounded. 
And cracked his whips, to make appear 
The lurking demons everywhere. 

Then burned my heart again : — afresh 

The horrid shiver shook my flesh. 

On, on I went ! — I did not run, 

My pain, I felt, I might not shun ; 

In quiet I bore on my load 

Through woods where every singing bird 

Awoke when my hot palm it heard 



74 THE MADMAN S DAY. 

Crushing the deep grass, strowed, 
As 'twere an ancient banquet room, 
With rushes with their dry perfume ; — 
Across bleak moors I went remote — 
The peaweep cried a wailful note ; 
A babe that hath not tasted milk, 
A babe whose mother dear is dead. 
Whose cheek is soft as flaggy silk, 
From out its weak and thirsty throat 
So sad a voice would shed ! 
I went through pastures moist and deep. 
The oxen bellowed in their sleep, 
A short and wild and angry low ! 
That I with my foul foot should go 
Through meadows innocent and pure, 
What sinless creature might endure ? 
Then would I stand quite still, and hear 
The drops fall singly from the trees ; 
And think how soon, like one of these, 
My soul (for I was full of fear) 
Would drop, a solitary falling 
From life — a shivered dewdrop here, 
More easy of recalling ! 

And then — but as I mused, alas ! 
That fearful pulse within my breast 
Beat once again, — like lead on glass, 
The dull deep clang ! away ! away ! 
No rest ! no stay ! — away, away ! 
Away, away ! No rest ! 



THE MADMAN S DAY. 75 

A sense of guilt, like some foul wind, 

Whose breath is suffocation, 

Kept panting ever just behind : 

Hope leaned on desperation. 

Good God ! that race I cannot tell ; 

Only I know, a vault-like sound. 

An iron echo from the ground. 

Rang ever, where my footsteps fell ; 

Only I know, that I passed through 

A village which, a child, I knew 

As well as my own garden ; 

White walls, green trees, a straggling stream. 

And Labour, cheerful warden. 

Tame birds, and stonecrop on the roof, 

And lilac mallows making proof 

Of every summer beam : 

Now, in my race, I passed through it — 

With dark red gloomy fire 'twas lit, 

Such horrid flame as dyed the walls 

Of Sodom and Gomorrah, 

With gay sunshiny intervals. 

Like mirth i' the midst of sorrow ; 

A glimmering place ! a chattering rout 

Of spinning-jennies all about 

Kept up a doleful thrill : 

It ran from brook to brook throughout ! 

It ran from hill to hill ! 

Away I sped with sobbing breath, — 

One ghastly face tied up for death 

Grinned at a cottage door : 



76 THE MADMAN S DAY. 

I ran as if for life and death — 
Thank God, I know no more ! 

And now to thee, my Mary dear. 

My pearl of price ! my flower of pride ! 

I tell this tale, in quiet here 

Sitting- at thy sweet side ! 

In peace again — Heaven's light restored 

To yonder balmy fields, 

Each bud enfranchised to afford 

Once more the scent it yields : 

O blessed Mary ! who was this 

That brought the beauty back ? 

Who won a world of love and bliss 

From yonder fearful wrack ? 

'Twas thou, my love ! — Be thine the meed 

With Him who stirred thee to the deed ! 



SHORTER POEMS, 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



He's not among them on the green ; 
Those daisies may be gay and bright, 
Those boyish bosoms clear and light ; 
But he lies hid in shades unseen, 
My love and my delight ! 

Is yonder he ? Tis like in size, 

In limb as light, in step as free ; 

Ah no ! \feel it cannot be. 

My heart would leap through these dim eyes 

If it believed 'twere he ! 

Said I 'twas like him ? O false eye ! 
tongue too loose ! there is not there 
One face, one form that may compare 
With his ; of all that company 
Not one, not one so fair ! 

Not even he, now loved the best. 
Whose eyes are full of love, as day 
Is full of light, may bear away 
The palm from him who lies at rest, 
And if not he, who may ? 



80 SHORTER POEMS. 

All nobleness was on his face 
And form : a soul so bright and bold 
His perfect figure did o'ermould ; 
Upon his brow a spirit's grace 
Did seem to be unrolled. 

Above the baseness of the earth 
His mounted spirit, like a bird, 
Sped on ; a height till then unstirred 
He dwelt in, whence his song-like mirth 
Fell round us, gladly heard. 

Fine moods were with him ! Scorn of wrong 
And Love attended on his steps ; 
Like music, which in a moment skips 
From low to high, they changed along 
His fair and flushing lips. 

No more — 'tis not that all is said. 
Oh no ! and angels in the sky 
Would weary of God's praise ere I 
Of his ; but he is cold and dead, 
And we will pass it by. 



1 



MISCELLANEOUS. II. £1 



II. FOR A BOOK OF POETRY, DESIGNS, ETC. 

Little Book, thou art intended 

For all whimsies of the pen ; 

Follies to be left or mended, 

Some time future, heaven knows when ; 

Haply not until the brain 

Leave its coil of joy and pain ; 

And the hearing, sight, and scent 

Be waxen disobedient. 

On thy pages shall be shrined 

Eveiy mood of changeful mind : 

Joy and Sorrow, brother-powers ; 

Hope that springs and Fear that cowers ; , 

Friendship, knitting subtle cords 

Out of looks and thoughts and words ; 

Charity, that, like a sun, 

Kindles all it beams upon 

Into blissful light serene ; 

Love with taper fingers clean 

Wreathing roses white and holy ; 

Backward-leaning Melancholy ; 

Peace, and peaceful discontent, 

When the silence doth invent 



82 SHORTER POEMS. 

Music, and the blank with forms 
Self-impregnate, slowly warms 
Into life ; as stagnant lakes 
Curdle into worms and snakes. 

Nor the pencil shall refuse 
Toll of lovely sights and views, 
Caught through jambs of granite cleaves 
In the set of autumn eves ; 
Nor sweet forms in vision seen, 
Or with running waves between 
Spied far down in stilly waters, 
Ocean's shadowy sons and daughters ; 
Nor the shapes, that walk away. 
Twinkling 'twixt the trees far off, 
When the night is met with day. 
And the marsh-frogs croak and cough. 
And the night-bird's balmy throat 
Lingers on its favourite note. 

Nor the forms that come and go. 
Light and laughing, sad and slow, 
Dimly seen to frown and dimple 
Down the aisles of History's temple ; 
Grecian lords with hanging hair ; 
Roman- ladies sternly fair ; 
Knight with steed, and dame with tercel 
And children's faces universal 
Linking our age with that and all 
By nature's likeness general. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 11. 83 

Little Book, thy slaves shall be 
Eye and heart and memory ; 
Fancy shall be at thy door, 
Truth thy bounden servitor ; 
Every whim the eye that catches. 
Coinage of the midnight watches, 
Or of day, though less divine, 
Little Volume, shall be thine ; 
Vision — filmy train of dreams ; 
All that is and all that seems ; 
Things of spirit, things of blood, 
Outlined in abstruser mood, 
When the fingers loosely play. 
And the mind is far away ; 
Things of sorrow, things of glee, 
Honoured Volume all for thee ! 



84 SHOKTER POEMS. 



III. A MORAL FOR SPRING. 

When the Spring sky is waxing soft, 

And sun and cloud and sunny rain 
Change o'er its surface fast and oft, 

Then seek a low and sheltered lane : 
There let then be a dancing brook 

And a green plank or mossy ledge, 
Where you may rest at ease and look 

Upon the flapping of the sedge ; 
And let some nodding briars hang o'er 

To whip the waters till they seethe ; 
Partly by these disturbed, but more 

By rugged pebbles underneath : 
Then think of life, how often vexed 

With fretting sedge and scourging briars, 
Yet ever how much more perplexed 

By its own bed of fierce desires ! 



MISCELLANEOUS. IV. 85 



IV. THE GREEN LANE. 

A DAY of joy ! a gladsome day, 

Fit courier of the flowers of May ! 

Come out, along the grassy lane 

That links green Bilton's glancing spire 

To Lawford's road, for sand and mire 

The road of roads again ! 

Come out ; there is the tall Oak-tree 

Upon its bank of grass. 

And sitting there we'll think we see 

The soft spring-breezes pass, 

The blithe spring-breeze that scarce can stir 

For this warm air entangling her. 

Say you the oaken buds are pale ? 
No matter ! we'll look down the vale ; 
And Lawford trees, a dusky group. 
We'll fancy green ; and Brownsover's 
Grey hedge-row lines and Holbrook's firs ; 
With woodbine withes we'll loop ; 
And we — yet more could Fancy do — 
We'll make a Spring, friend, for us Two. 

Us two alone ? Nay, we'll not wrong 
With self's least blight this joyous day ; 



; SHORTER POEMS. 

Though we alone are here, we'll long- 
For other faces far away ; 
Dear friends from Granta's willowy side, 
And silent Soar and crystal Clyde, 
And others still as true and dear, 
Who are at hand but are not here. 

The seasons might be secret scrolls 

Hid underground, for us, 
Dear friend, if we with our hid souls 

Could always commune thus : 
But peace, dear boy, that lies to you, 

A virgin ore upon the soil, 
To older hearts sinks out of view ; 
A secret mine, but worked by few, 

And then with pain and toil ; 
So tell us wiser men than we, 
And so I know that it may be ; 
Then speed, kind Fancy, and uncoil 
Thy Spring for him and me. 

Our good green lane with wreaths is'drest, 

Our old oak looks his stateliest ; 

The gorse is lit upon the hedge, 

A sullen fire, like smouldering sedge, 

A sullen, smouldering fire ; 

And hawthorn shoots are snowy Avhite ; 

And tender buds just bared to sight 

Spot thick the dancing briar ; 

And far and near the speedwell shines, 



MISCELLANEOUS. IV. 87 

And hops as fair as Tuscan vines 
As gracefully and fondly fair, 
Shoot snaky tendrils everywhere. 

Come down, spring birds ! come, lark and thrush, 

The corn is thickening, and the bush 

Will well protect from prying eye 

The dear domestic mystery. 

Come, swallow ! lo ! the gentle brook 

Looks up with an impatient look. 

It would be kissed by breast of thine, 

And it would share its sunny shine 

With wagtails through a crystal rain 

Self-raised, now seen, now lost again. 

Now, fancy, rest ; say, gentle friend, 

Where shall her tricksy voyage end ? 

See, Newbold's Church stands almost near, 

Drawn by the moistened atmosphere ; 

A quiet church, it stands among 

Its tribes of green or mossy graves ; 

And listens to the merry throng 

Of Avon's rippling waves ; 

And not by these to sadness won. 

By those to over-gladness bent. 

Stands holy in its unison 

Of earth's delight and heaven's content. 

Thither, my friend, let fancy go, 

And rest her wins-s in that low fane. 



88 SHORTER rOEMS. 

And then we two shall feel and know 
That she may speed again, 
For in no feverish discontent 
Our pleasures in her train we sent, 
If thus among" those graves she go, 
And rest her in that holy ground, 
Unshocked the holiness below. 
And the holiness around. 



MISCELLANEOUS. V. 89 



V. 



Thine eyes are calm and cold, my love, 

A gentle glorious hue 
Made up of sunset's gold, my love, 

And starry midnight's blue, 
A ghostlike glory — half of day. 
And half of splendours past away. 

Nay, look not so serene, my love, 

A twinkle let there be, 
A twinkling smile between, my love. 

Thy stony glance and me ; 
That placid look I cannot bear — 
O, let one smile be dancing there ! 

No smile ! — no word ! — no breath, my love ! 

Ah well ! I can devise 
An answer even from death, my love ! 

A smile from stony eyes ; 
I'll shut mine own, then I shall see 
My Love as wonted smile on me. 



90 SHORTER POEMS. 



VI. 



]My sorrow is not sin ; — by day 
My eyeballs are like balls of stone : 

Bat when at night I kneel to pray, 
And Heaven and I are all alone, 

Then God's own Hand so strong and still 

Unlocks them, and I weep at will. 

O my first Friend ! in childhood's joy 
Was fastened first our love's sweet chain 

'Twas riveted upon the boy, 

And now in youth 'tis snapt in twain ; 

And just when I am grown a man 

And need have all the love I can ! 

Yet wounds it most that none should know, 
Save me and two or three beside, 

That earth such loss doth undergo : 
To me it seems now thou hast died 

That virtue is gone out of nature ; 

Yet other men see no defeature : 

The Heaven's blue dome is blue as ever, 
The grass as green, the birds as gay, 



MISCELLANEOUS. VI. 91 

The wind as busy with the river, 

The sun as constant to the day, 
And thou, that perfect chrysolite, 
Art hid : — we could not bear the siffht ! 



'O' 



It is so strange that thou, so fair. 
So noble, shouldst be let to die. 

And still the freedom of the air 
Be granted to such things as I ; 

It is a marvel most extreme, 

'Tis like the puzzle of a dream. 

Couldst thou not tarry, O my friend ! 

My schoolfellow ! my mate in play ! 
Thought'st thou my love was at an end 

When we no more met every day, 
And didst thou run to treacherous Death 
To cure the pains of broken faith ? 

Couldst thou not wait till love had died. 
Or sickness torn thy bloom away ; 

And I, attending at thy side. 

Had used mine eyes to thy decay. 

And practised my sad heart awhile 

To live upon a fainter smile ? 

Or tell me truly, was my love 
A load too burdensome to bear ? 

Ah, fond ! now thou art fled above 
My love hath followed thee up there ; 



SliORTEll POEMS. 



And there it is, and angels' mirth 
Rings down through it unto the earth. 



i 



But angels' joy is grief and pain 

To men whose hearts are vile and weak 

And I would pray that thou again 

On earth shouldst walk and smile and speak ; 

But that He wills who knoweth best. 

And I am fond and fear-oppressed. 

Yet this I would, — that I might be 
Where thou art, O my first and best ! 

For here my soul most lonelily 
Abideth, and is not at rest ; 

I loved life well before, but now 

I only wish to be as thou ! 

O come thou back, my schoolboy love, 
Or let me come and be with thee ; 

My soul is restless as a dove 
Let out upon the silent sea, 

Or that which from the ark went forth 

While yet the waters hid the earth. 

O, my dear friend ! if 1 had known 
Thy danger ; and thy danger's cure 

Had been my life- breath for thine own, 
I would have paid the price, be sure ; 

But now, since that can never be, 

Oh would, oh would I were with thee ! 



MISCELLANEOUS. YII. 93 



Til. DIRGE. 

Thy cheek is cold, thy cheek is blue, 
Life hath never such a hue ; 
Thou art dead, who cannot tell? 
Ah me ! fare thee well ! 

Ah ! thine eye so bright and proud ! 
All is covered with a cloud, 
And thy careless heart so free ; 
Ah me ! woe is me ! 

Thy lips so curling, rosy-red, 
Stiff and blue and cold and dead ! 
Which sweet words once bubbled o'er, 



Thou hast left the earth so gay ; 
Thou in Heaven sing'st to-day : 
Thou'rt in Heaven, there to dwell ; 
'Tis well ! fare thee well ! 

Thou art fled and leavest me, 
Cruel, cruel 'tis of thee ; 
Thou art worthy of much blame. 
Ah ! love ! fie for shame ! 



94 SHORTER POEMS, 

Like a curly-tendriled vine 
Thou about my heart didst twine ; 
As a child I loved thee so, 

Ah me ! none could know. 

Yet thou fleest — 'tis no more 
All I knew and loved before ; 
All is buried underground ; 

Ah, love! love, sleep sound ! 

Nay, a better lore I learn, 
, Yet methinks thou shalt return ; 
When Christ cometh thou wilt come, 
Welcome, day of doom ! 



MISCELLANEOUS. VIII. 95 



VIII. HOLBROOK FIRS. 

No matter for the rain ! — 'tis not 

A thing to care for : lo ! with ease 

I could make count of every spot 

That trickles through these latticed trees. 

These burly pines are not afraid, 

But gladly take the kindly aid, 

That they the sooner may lay by 

Their black old-fashioned green, and vie 

With the fresh year's hilarity. 

No matter for the rain ! unless 

We make it cause of thankfulness 

For cuckoo's throat, that wins therefrom 

New doublets of a mellower sound. 

For gladness rising all around, 

And intimations glad that come 

From overhead and underground : 

The wild wood-dove, that doth imbibe 

A kind of madness of delight, 

And frantically flings away 

Her voice o'er hill, and down, and plain, 

And cares not if it come again, 

Since she, she only or the tribe 



96 



SHORTER POEMS. 



Of feathered things as blithe and bright, 
The lack full gladly will repay, 
The lack to heaven and this green spring 
And echo faintly answering. 

Peace— peace and joy, — these gentle Trees 
Should only hold such guests as these : 
Dear friend, no matter for the rain ! 
Those larches are in glee as loud 
As they had never seen a cloud : 
Look round you — look again ! 
See yonder train of piimrose buds 
Set out, — it rises and descends, 
Till deep in Brinklow's willowy woods 
The blithe procession ends : 
Now look each floweret in the face, 
Each floweret like a fair pale sun ; 
A peaceful eye, dear friend, could trace 
Joy brightening, softening every one ! 



I am alone, my friend, and yet 
1 speak as if we were together ; 
And so we are, and I forget 
All things but you : and well I know, 
Taught by a blind sweet inner sense, 
Which overcomes fond why and whence, 
That thy dear love, which lifts me so 
Above this plague of wayward weather, 
Hath yet a stronger power, a flow 
More deep, a holier influence. 



MISCELLANEOUS. VIII. 97 

I know — have known for years — that Earth 
Was bound to me by ties unholy, 
So falsely have I played with mirth 
When my best mood was melancholy : 
But now 'tis changed ! thank God, 'tis changed ! 
And things half-loved and things estranged, 
Things high, and pure, and holy. 
Come back in thee so pure and good, 
And I a humbler happier mood 
Inhabit, and am lowly ; 
And so the winds of earth's unrest 
Pass harmless round my quiet nest ; 
And through green boughs of fresh delight 
My heart, undazzled by the view, 
Sits gladly watching day and night 
Heaven's starred or sunny blue. 
And, dearest friend, to thee I owe 
That I again so glad may be, 
To thee and God who made thee so, 
And gave thee unto me. 



98 SHORTEll POEMS. 



IX. ADDRESS TO BEAUTY. 



Oft have I sought thee, Beauty, oft, 

And found thee oftener yet, 
Around, below, aloft, 

A seal and signet set : 
A seal on this sweet earth, — a token ; 

A glimmer from a hidden mine 

Cast to the negligent sunshine ; 
A promise, that may not be broken. 

Of bliss that hides where mortal eye 
Cannot pierce through the fair obscurity. 

Sweet soul of this sweet earth ! 

One othei- comes to thee ; 
From men and men's bounds gladly forth 

Thine own to be ! 
Yet gladly ? Ask no word ; 

The heart may be about to die, 
And yet win glimpses of its old delight ; 

Even as the warmth was stirred 
In David's bosom when the Shunamite 

Came there to lie. 

O send me not away. 
Blest spirit, that 1 sought thee not before 




MISCELLANEOUS. IX. 99 

I had a dearer play, 
My heart with other mantling* joys ran o'er, 
And was contented with the golden store 
Of those rich smiles now mine no more ! no 
more ! no more ! 
Content ? The very sunlight from the sky 
I could have parted with, for I 
Had a light — her eyes, her eyes — 
Dearer than a thousand skies. 
Now these are turned aside 

To others than to me ; 
And I repent me of my olden pride, 
And bend to thee ! 

Gracious soul of this sweet earth ! 
Come from the azure deeps, come forth' 
Come from the starry isles, if keeping- 
There thy glorious rest unsleeping ; 
Or from hiding in the caves, 

Coral-paven, walled with pearl ; 
In whose depths the gamesome waves 

Run and leap, and toss and whirl ; 
Or from the islands in the ocean, 
Steady 'midst eternal motion ; 
Or the shores to weary billows 
Laying green or golden pillows i 
Or where'er thou art abiding, 
Proudly shewn or shyly hiding. 
Come, when dawn is pale and grey, 

Or when glory, bolder growing, 



100 SHORTER POEMS. 

Nestles in the breast of day ; 

Come, when eve is calmly flowing 
Into every nook and field, 
And the moon is unrevealed, 

Or by glimpses glowing. 

Hear thy child and come to me. 
Come to me, sweet mother, come ! 

Life is lonely without thee, 
Lonely, dark, and wearisome ! 



MISCELLANEOUS. X. 101 



X. 



In vain the Heart calls out for words, 

And asks coy Fancy for a strain 

Worthy to be and to remain ; 

She, wilful maiden, leaves the chords 

To silence, and no aid affords : 

But when the blind and baffled Will 

In spite and feebleness lies still, 

Out come the notes like autumn birds 

That jostle in the air, and then 

The Head and Heart are friends asrain. 



*D" 



Who knows a poet's pain and pleasure, 
Who knows not this ? but we must measure 
The weariness and the annoy. 
My friend, beside the after joy. 
The pathways of our human mind 
Are narrow, and the step behind 
Treads out the footsteps earlier printed ; 
And if our pains be crowned at last, 
Light Fancy looks not to the past, 
And Labour is contented. 



102 



SHORTER POEMS. 



XI. TO IMPERIA. 



Thou art not, and thou never canst be mine ; 

The die of fate for me is thrown, 

And thou art made 

No more to me than some resplendent shade 

FJung on the canvass by old art divine; 

Or vision of shaped stone ; 

Or the far g-Iory of some starry sign 

Which hath a beauty unapproachable 

To aught but sight, — a throne 

High in the heavens and out of reach ; 

Therefore with this low speech 

I bid thee now a long and last farewell 

Ere I depart, in busy crowds to dwell, 

Yet be alone ! 



All pleasures of this pleasant Earth be thine ! 
Yea, let her Servants fondly press 
Unto thy feet, 
Bearing all sights most fair, all scents most sweet: 
Spring, playing with her wreath of budded vine ; 
Summer, with stately tress 

Prinked with green wheat-ears and the white corn- 
bine ; 
And Autumn, crowned from the yellow forest-tree; 



MISCELLANEOUS. XII. 103 

— And Winter, in his dress, 

Begemmed with icicles, from snow dead- white 

Shootino: their wondrous lif>ht ; 

These be thine ever. But I ask of thee 

One blessing only to beseech for me, — 

Forge tfulness. 



Xir. INSCRIPTION FOR A SECLUDED SEAT. 

The daisy nods at twilight, and a sound 
Rustles up softly from the dewy ground ; 
And the inquisitive stai's at summer eves 
Sometimes behold me through the ruffling leaves. 
If thou hast eyes as pure and voice as sweet. 
Come ! thou art welcome to my mossy seat. 



104 SHORTER POEMS. 



XIII. DAY S HELP. 

All night I slept a tortured sleep 
Betwixt the demons, doubt and fear 

They held my eyes, I could not weep, 
Nor lift their fingers sere. 

At length with morn I crept away ; 

I walked between the arching limes ; 
On came the day-break red and grey. 

As in departed times. 

The glad birds' noise went up around- 
O God ! or my own foolishness ! 

I took it for an ominous sound 
Of peace to my distress. 

And day flung lavishly about 

His broad white beams ; my terror fled : 
Surely I heard a secret shout 

Of angels overhead ! 

Make not our hope to ebb and flow. 

Great God, who art our strength and stay ; 

But let the dark night help us so 
As doth the sunny day! 



MISCELLANEOUS. XIV. 105 



XIV. 

I WILL not paint my love's perfections 
With lifeless hues from nature's store ; 

His gentle words, his gentle actions 
Shall speak his worth, my sorrow more. 

I will but tell that in his bosom 

(Fair chest !) a noble heart was hid ; 

I will but say that honour's blossom 
Shone fair and white on all he did. 

Or if I tell his lofty stature, 

His arching brows, his curling lips, 

'Tis but to shew how his high nature 
His outer beauty did eclipse. 

It seemed to me his noble spirit 

Was like some ancient Arch sublime : 

Which, dwarfing all the dwellings near it, 
Brings back the old gigantic time. 

And there was Love, a lowly floweret. 
Beneath this arch so fair and tall : 

O why did death so soon devour it. 
And make that lofty arch to fall ! 



106 SHORTER POEMS. 



XV. 

Bold Spring! disdain those puny flowers, 
Dwarfed stepsons of the frost ; 
Cast off all thought of wintry hours, 
Whatever price it cost : 
Fling far away to darkest night 
(Be just, sweet Spring, be fearless !) 
Those primroses so blear and white, 
These daisies dim and cheerless. 
Yon haggard violets maimed and sere, 
O cordial Spring, disdain them ! 
To wrong thy glory have no fear, 
'Twould wrong it to retain them : 
Disdain, disown the stunted birth, 
And clear the shame from off the soil ; 
To force, not love, be sure, the earth 
Brought forth a brood so mean and vile ! 

Then fling thy hands abroad, sweet Spring, 

On tree, and hedge, and field, 

Call out the leaves, glad heralding 

Of gladness unrevealed ; 

The bud, the flower, the fruit,— the blade. 

The barley in the sheaves ; 

For all thy bliss destroyed, delayed. 



MISCELLANEOUS. XV. 107 

O give us but green leaves ! 

The odours of the buds unseen, 

O blessed Spring, enfranchise ; 

And bid the clouds of golden green 

Go wandering in the branches : 

Let us be folded when we walk 

With hedges thick and thickening trees ; 

With verdure clothing every stalk, 

And fragrance filling every breeze ! 

Then, Spring, once safe, thy triumph gained, 

Be merry on the past ; 

With scented winds at will unchained 

Mock winter's icy blast ; 

Besnow the garden walls with flower, 

With lilac buds behail us ; 

Rain apple-blossoms by the hour. 

Our patience will not fail us ; 

Nay, we will aid thy glee, not slack 

With frolicsome petition. 

To dreary winter to come back, 

And better his condition ; 

And if he come, we will not care. 

But jeer the grey-beard to his face ; 

Nor grudge that one day's sharper air 

Should give the next a fresher grace. 



108 SHORTER POEMS. 



XVI. THE MISER'S DREAM. 

There are brown lashes to full many an eye, 
And dark rich locks down pearly shoulders rolled, 
And yet I care not ; sleeping peacefully, 
And counting in my sleep the scantless gold, 
Laid up in slumber's gorgeous treasure-hold. 
It is no care to me that running tears 
Dim the bright eye ; I cannot leave untold 
My heaps, though brown locks in the sun of years 
Grow white and dry, or fall in the blast of sudden 
fears. 

The light by which I count is glorious red, 
The very heaps' own light that lie around. 
Cast from the ruddy golden hillocks spread 
Thickly as graves in a city burial-ground ; 
But these are gold, rich gold ; no idle mound 
Built over dead men's bones ; and golden showers 
Rain ever on them with a chinking sound, 
Sweeter than when the May-queen, gathering 

flowers. 
Shakes o'er the sleeping pool the dewy bellamours. 

Ah ! let the lean-faced Poet with quick eyes 
Tell if he will of plashing summer shower ; 



MISCELLANEOUS. XVI. 109 

/ love the golden rain that did surprise 
Languishing Danae in the iron tower : 
This for the poet and his balmy bower ! 
His be the drops that sparkle on the tree, 
I will give up the jewels in the flower, 
And all the spoil of summer's argosy ; — 
But oh ! these golden drops, these rich red drops 
for me ! 



HO SHORTER POEMS. 



XVII. SONG. 

If the Spring is sweet, when its violets 

In a countless train assemble, 
Yet thou art sweeter, (who forgets ?) 
With thine eyes, and the veiny rivulets 

That round thine eyelids tremble ! 

If Summer be dear with its dewy prize 

Of the damask buds unclosing, 
Yet thou art dearer, (who denies ?) 
With thy cheeks and the rosy light that lies 

On thy downy skin reposing ! 

If Autumn with golden sheaves be fair. 

And the hops which the wind caresses, 
Yet thou art fairer, I declare, 
With the sunny shine of thy golden hair, 
And the toss of thy dancing tresses ! 

And if Winter be white with its glittering snow. 

In wave, and wreath, and wrinkle. 
Yet thou art whiter, well I know. 
With thy neck, and thy long neck's graceful flow, 

And thy teeth's resplendent twinkle ! 



MISCELLANEOUS. XVII I. 



XVIII. 
TO THREE LITTLE GIRLS AT A PIANOFORTE. 

Darling children ! — three together, 
Now with finger, now with palm ! 
Ah ! the notes — I doubt me, whether 

They will understand the charm : 
Listen how they cross and scream ! 
Wilder music not the stream 
Wakes from all its stones in motion, 
When its face is white as cream ; 
Verily not the tossing ocean, 
With its quarrelling waves gregarious, 
Makes a melody more various ! 

Hush ! — my children, let the riot 

Cease awhile into a calm ; 
Let the jangling notes be quiet ! 

Rest the finger, and the palm ! 

Sisters small, shall I be teaching 
How this earth's fair tune is marred 

By the eager over-reaching, 

By the touch too quick, too hard ? 

How this bodily instrument 

Owns a kindred discontent, 

Folly strained or passion jarred ? 



112 SHORTER POEMS. 

Nay, sweet peaceful sisterhood, 
'Twere no use, it is no need ; 

Ye are yet too pure and good — . 
Vain to you the lore indeed ; 

Come and kiss me, come and shew, 
Love, — that only lore ye know : 
Fd give years, and wealth, and wit, 
To know half as much of it ! 



XIX. INSCRIPTION FOR A SPRING-HEAD. 

The leaves' pure shadow, and the cleanly shine 
Of noontide's sun and midnight's stars is mine ; 
No unclean impress yet my face hath curst, 
Take care, stranger, thine be not the first ! 



MISCELLANEOUS. XX. 113 



XX. SONG. (7) 

I LOVE thy glowing cheek, but best 

I love thy golden hair, 
To hide my face in that sweet nest, 
And woo a happy-visioned rest. 

In that dark ambush there. 

One ear against thy cheek's aglow, 

The other, it is bare : 
Fling, sweetest love, o'er it also, 
I pray thee, love, in mercy throw^ 

The meshes of thy hair. 

Ah ! love, I thought to crop a rest 

Of golden-pinioned dreams. 
But slumber in so sweet a nest 
With thee for mistress, me for guest, 
A sacrilege it seems. 

Thy hair it shuts us in all round ; 

'Tis like a summer cave, 
With vine-curls trailing to the ground, 
That ever with a slumberous sound 

Serenely shift and wave. 



114 SHORTER POEMS. 

Each burning blush of sunset's sky 

Into our pleasant tent 
(As through its lash the lovelit eye) 
Shines with a richer, warmer dye, 

Through thy light tresses sent. 

Never were we so much alone 
As now, my own heart's dove ! 

Come, turn thy face, mine own, mine own ! 

Come, let us talk — we are alone — 
Come, let us talk of love. 



MISCELLANEOUS. XXI. 115 



XXI. THE HIGHLANDER IN ITALY. 

Come ! pleasant thoughts of home ! — be near, be 
near ! 

In these hoar woods more dear, 
Shelving ungently to the torrent's side, 
Than when a year ago, among the trees. 
That circle with their loving boughs the porch 

Of our ancestral church. 
My cheek as yet unyellowed by disease, 
I called you to my heart at eventide ! 

There is a lake that wins the sunbeams here. 

Even like our own blue mere, 
And bluer far the sky that lies thereon, 
And lovelier far the flowers that bend their necks 
To break its ripple with their gentle kisses ; 

But oh ! my sad eye misses 
The blushing wreath of heather red, that deck.s 
Our own lake, heaving in its ribs of stone ! 

And here are birds that sing unto themselves 

Among the mountain shelves. 
Or wake a louder music o'er the flood, 
That rudely, like a tongue-tied infant, mock.* 
The tumult, or the sweet, soft, stealing song 



116 SHORTER POEMS. 

But I forget, and long 
For the clear echoes from our naked rocks, 
And the shrill eaglets quarrelling o'er their food. 

And here are joyous voices now and then 

Of glad wayfaring men, 
Thrown up in sport, and kindly tones beseeching 
The morning's blessing on the traveller ; 
But though the sound be winning to the ear. 

Yet 'tis not half so dear, 
Nor half so strong the sleeping heart to stir 
As those old accents of my mother's teaching. 

Yes ! and here too is every other thing 

Of my heart's worshipping, 
When first my map of life I fondly planned ; 
But all are changed, even as the lake, the wood. 
The bird, the music of the human tongue, 

Aye, over all is flung 
Some change, — o'er all except my native blood, 
Which is the same and fits not with the land. 

It seems but mockery to mine eyes to see 

Church, valley, lake, and tree. 
Spread all around me, yet not calling forth 
One gush of pleasure from this stony breast. 
That did so melt, when from my own old room, 

I gazed on mere and coomb. 
And spire and ancient elm in sabbath rest. 
Ere yet my foot had touched a foreign earth. 



MISCELLANEOUS. XXI. 117 

But then the yellow tinge came o'er my cheek, 

And I set forth to seek, 
In a more southern region's fabled wealth 
Of lifeful breezes and restoring springs, 
Some respite from my sharp and gnawing pains ; 

But still the fever reigns, 
And now I would return, — in the olden things 
Of my own home, to find my spirit's health. 

But 'tis too late ! — and Earth may close her book 

Forme, — for I may look 
No more upon the single page I love ; 
And may-be it is well, — that clinging bands 
Of old affections, and the ties as strong 

Of scenes loved well and long, 
May not with fatal strength knit down my hands 
When I would stretch them to the heaven above i 



118 SHORTER POEMS c 



XXII. MOTTO 

FOR A BOOK OF SEA-WEEDS. 

Stolen from the ocean-depths ? It is not true ; 
But gently, by the wave's commissioned hand, 
Plucked from the dark sea-gardens where they 

grew, 
And laid, as Ocean's offering to the land. 
With heaps of speckled shells upon the glistering 

sand : 
Thence gathered for delight of children's eyes, 
And question thus awaked of Nature's mysteries. 



MISCELLANEOUS. XXIII. 11§ 



XXIII. THE HAUNTED COTTAGE. 

Now am I by the haunted cot, 
Where once were murderous deeds adoing 
Tis whole, and sound, and ruined not, 
Yet somehow sadder than a ruin. 

And wh}', it is not hard to tell. 
For nature's justice doth not sleep ; 
And what is stained by deeds of hell, 
Green earth is loth to keep. 

And so all rusts she sends, and mould 
Into the joints, and roof, and wall ; 
And fear on all men who behold, 
With wishes for its fall. 

And see ! the dust upon the ground 
Claims kindred with its dusty thatch ; 
The damp's small finger-mark is found 
Upon the blistered latch. 

There is a little pool close by ; 
Upon its bank the furze-bush quakes ; 
A clear cold water ; like an eye. 
Strange shades of sense it takes. 



12d SHORTER POEMS. 

It seems to look towards that lone cot, 
As if some fellowship it had 
Therewith : 'tis not in good, I wot, 
It looks so stern and sad. 

And yet not sadness such as bows 
Yon weary cottag-e walls forlorn ; 
Though overcast, its guilty brows 
Have yet a touch of scorn. 

You might believe that ill it brooked 
Those guilty walls' so slow decay, 
And therefore thus it looked, and looked 
So sternly night and day. 

And thus, perchance, it vents the claim 
Of natures, that immortal be, 
Which, we may think, can hide their shame 
In their eternity. 

'Tis well ; for if upon earth's face 
Its secret crimes could all be read. 
For love or mirth, what fitting place ? 
Where could we lay our dead ? 



MISCELLANEOUS. XXIV. 121 



XXIV. 

I HAVE a lady throned in my soul, 

That in her home — my soul — hath dwelt alway, 

And never seen the merry sunlight roll 

O'er the glad peaks at morning-, nor the May 

Flush the bare thorns i' the spring-tide ; sitting 

at play 
In my still soul among the roses there 
Which never bud nor fade ; beneath its day, 
Which ebbeth not, nor springs, like the outer air 
Butbideth still and rich, as the roses fresh and fair. 

And She herself it is that keepeth still 
My heart, with joy or fear no more distressed 
As once, but throbbing gently with a thrill 
Awed to the quiet of that quiet guest ; 
And yet not dully bowed to her behest 
But pulsing measurely, like a Fountain keeping 
In an eastern hail its regular unrest ; 
And so all day and night my heart is leaping 
Even as I wake or sleep, that Dame awake or 
sleeping. 

Soothly thou sayest 'tis no mortal Dame ; 

No light of earthly fire is in her eye, 

She is immortal, being of heaven; — her name. 



122 SHORTER POEMS. 

Ye would well guess, divinest Poesy ; — 

And her true home is in the starry sky, 

But she came down to me, most blessed Leech, 

When sick with love my heart was near to die : 

And a relieving lore she did me teach, 

And soft as winnow of an angel's wings her speech. 

She gave me all in which my soul rejoices ! 
She poured a subtle essence in my ears, 
So that I understood all Nature's voices ; 
How the young birds choose out their mottled feres, 
And how the stars roll ringing on their spheres, 
ThrilHng the air about them ; and the trees' 
Low welcome when the dewy morn appears ; 
And the faint loves of busy-seeming bees, 
Whereto the idle flowers sing sleepy lullabies. 

And from my eye by her too was withdrawn 
The earthly crust which did confine its rays ; 
So I beheld, if at the rosy dawn 
A golden star would lag awhile to gaze. 
In timorous wonder at the mighty maze 
Which lay beneath her feet ; or all too early 
At even (like a primrose that displays 
His tender cheek when winter winds are surly) 
Glimmer with faint dim light most winning, soft, 
and pearly. 

And other things I saw by that device ; 

How young buds blindly to the surface creep, 



MISCELLANEOUS. XXIV. 123 

Then to the sun spread wide their wonderins: eves. 
Like children of a sudden waked from sleep ; 
And how upon the bi'oad unwieldy deep 
The million million interweaving waves 
A measured dance and seemly order keep ; 
And how the moon exchanges her dim caves ; 
And how the flesh melts down in the hot and 
trampled graves. 

Yea, all things good and bad thereby 1 saw ; 
Made rich beyond all riches, sound, or sight. 
By that uplifting of the eternal law. 
But, for to all she gives not such delight. 
To tell those things to any mortal wight 
She lets not ; stringing still more close than ever 
The tongue which haply might abuse its right ; 
And vainly strive I those strong bonds to sever. 
Wasting short life away in fruitless fond endeavour. 



SPRING SONNETS. 



SPRING SONNETS. 



No hint of spring ! no single forming flower, 

Tipt with kind blue or tender-blushing red 

As touched by morning's finger, lifts its head 

In cunning corners of the privet bower ; 

No crocus shuts at evening's starry hour, 

Jealous of heaven; nor on the ground is spread 

The constant periwinkle's hardihead 

As wonted, lustrous from the wintry shower. 

Whither is gone the sunny purple sky ? 

Where hide the summer winds serene and shy ? 

It is so long since nature's glory fled 

That w^ere't not for the birds that still abide 

Their Mother — the long-slumberer — the dull-eyed, 

Man might forget his faith, and deem her dead. 



128 SHORTER POEMS. 



TI. 



The overclouding Day is shy, may be, 
Our too fastidious niceness to displease 
With rays not bright enough, too free a breeze. 
O Sun, come back ! no ill-wise critics we ! 
Morn after morn went lagging tediously 
(Dimness for day, a deeper haze for night) 
And never one slant ray of sunny light 
Came flickering through the cloudy company ! 
O Sun, we now have learned (if needed this) 
The thankfullest humbleness : we do not try 
'But feel ; our wisdom with a dismal train 
Came to us ; she is here. O forth again. 
Forth on thy wings of love, and hope, and bliss, 
Bright Sun, into the blank deserted sky ! 



SPRING SONNETS. III. 129 



III. 



The trees are dripping: 'tis a pleasant sound, 
Though but from leafless boughs ; though there be 

spread 
No shadows of green branches overhead, 
No windless screen of rustling leaves around : 
Yet the grey carpet of the wintry ground 
Is greening, and the pale buds spot the trees ; 
And the dear fragrance floats upon the breeze 
Of brooks set free, and prisoned leaves unbound. 
The chapel cross upon a space of blue 
Stands clear ; about it is a rainy mist : 
The weather- watcher scents the south ; anon 
The haloed Moon comes tremulously on ; 
The clouds into a goldenish amethyst 
Kindling. Sweet season, be the omens true I 



130 SHORTER POEMS. 



IV. 



The earliest scent of dew this Year hath tasted, 
And oh, how welcome ! Like a friendly face 
Calling old times from their dim dwelling-place 
It comes : five passive months my heart hath wasted 
In bondage ; this fresh odour hath uncased it ; 
And gaily from its chrysalid serenity 
Leaps the glad spirit in the year's amenity : 
Winter was stern, but life hath yet outfaced it, 
And with a following of the laughing leaves. 
And flowering buds, and budding flowers, rejoices, 
Freed from her thraldom ; but last eve I heard 
The warning of her dear preluding bird ; 
And lo ! already she is here ; and cleaves 
All heaven and earth with quickened scents and 
voices ! 



SPRING SONNETS. V. 131 



Y. 



Time and the constant Spring; will conquer all : 
Five cruel months of rain, and snow, and frost 
Attacked the Spirit of life, who fought, but lost; 
Then underground, having dug a secret hall, 
They laid therein their unresisting thrall. 
Trod down the grave and left it. Then the fates 
Drew back those tyrants through their golden gates ; 
And nature did her favourite spring recall ; 
But as she came not, mourning her as dead, 
Took weeds and wreathed them round her desolate 

head, 
And would not hear of comfort ; but in grief, 
Couched on dry river-flags, lay still and wept : 
Nevertheless the lazy spring but slept, 
And now is here aa-ain with flower and leaf. 



132 SHORTER POEMS. 



VI. 



Days back and weeks, with unrewarding eyes 

(As her best cheer) hath Earth beheld the morn 

Slant downward from its eastern lodge forlorn, 

A wintry sheet of white cold light. Arise, A{ 

Sun of young May ! behold the softening skies ^ 

Present a flushing cheek (their morning duty) 

To thy paternal kiss ; earth's filial beauty 

Tarries alone thy rising to arise : 

The Mountains farther east are antedating 

Thy glory with lit summits ; the heaped Sea 

Rims the horizon with a burning line : 

No Hills have we, no glimmering Sea divine. 

Yet our low elmy pastures are awaiting 

Tby morning presence not less duteously. 



SPRING SONNETS. VII. 133 



VII. 



Come, Spring, with me into a little cell 
Where I and the wood-spirit (who she is 
I know not, but her looks are full of bliss) 
Live quietly alone : not kings that dwell 
In the iron guard of thrice-walled citadel 
Such safety know, not convent monks such peace, 
As we but fenced by the incorporeal breeze, 
But cloistered in our deep and grassy dell : 
Thither ethereal Spring, come, come with me ! 
Not that we are not happy, but thy breath 
May melt the crystal sky to deeper blue ; 
Tempt out the flowers ; enkindle the dark hue 
Of the grey water, which now sullenly 
Sleeps in its stony basin, dark as death. 



1S4 SHORTER POEMS. 



VIII. 

O Time, who sang- thee first with hoary wings 
And blue keen scythe, — a shape of shivering age, 
Plying for aye a thankless pilgrimage 
In ruthless strife among Earth's loveliest things ? 
Was't not in winter with the ministerings 
Of bellying clouds and huddling blasts to inspire, 
And fingers crampt that groped upon the lyre, 
And could not find the music of the strings ? 
O had he sate with soft winds in his ear 
As I, and watery murmurs blent therewith, 
And fragrant grass (fresh as the heaven above), 
Below him, he'd have made thee fair as Love ; . 
Given thee blithe ringlets for those locks so sere, 
A stately river-lily for the scythe. 



SPRING SONNETS. IX, 135 



IX. 



Nod on, meek snowdrops, so demurely gay ! 
Nod on — dance lightly ! for the sky above 
Looks on you with an azure eye of love ; 
A fatherly regard the wintry day 
Doth for your sprightly innocence display ; 
And the fierce wind, which in the forky pines 
Above your heads incessantly wails and whines, 
On you falls lightly as a breath of May. 
A man, I think, in darkest mood of spleen, 
Could scarce hold face against a glimmering joy 
To see your child-like quire at their employ, 
This tireless repetition of their game ; 
And I, for other cause right glad, I ween. 
Could shout aloud and leap to see the same. 



136 SHORTER POEMS. 



X. 



On the other side of yon long row of trees 
The young Spring passed : a joyous sunny gleam, 
Hanging about her hair, did make her seem 
A glorified Goddess. A delicious breeze 
Warped the dry branches : and a look of ease 
Calmed the wan turf whereon that lady walked ; 
And daffodils, green-headed, golden-stalked, 
(Being unripe) and wide-lipped crocuses. 
And snowdrops lily-pale but marble-cold 
Shot up, unsheathed from the secretive soil, 
A carpet for her ; and a rainy scent 
Descending from the unfreaked firmament 
Gathered round nature's heart and made it bold, 
Tempting her features to a sweet half-smile. 



SPRING SONNETS. XI. 137 



XI. 



Strange power inhabits these fresh days of spring, 
A strange expansive power, that almost storms 
These walls of flesh, our dull corporeal forms, 
Till the enfranchised Soul, a naked thing, 
In innocent freedom with the spirit of spring 
Spends peacefully her honey-moon, — too short. 
For careless suns scorch in their wasteful sport 
The tender leaves too soon, too early fling 
A dimness on the turf. No care for this 1 
They are not yet — still fancy's vagrant wing 
May ply its unchecked way o'er heaven and earth ; 
And as to some wild rook that in his mirth 
Dives in the yielding grass, the world that is 
Will yield to her as gaily voyaging. 



138 SHORTER POEMS. 



XII. 



What spell is in this day that here are met 
March, April, May together? Brag-gart winds 
Tie up earth's bosom ; April rain unbinds ; 
May sunshine, scented with the violet, 
Thwarts both. What needs the swarf and toil and 

fret, 
The anxiety of half-resolve and doubt, 
O year, when March and April are run out, 
And May upon her rightful throne is set ? 
O know thy mind ; a resolute will pursue 
And strengthen justice ! clear the rebel train 
Out of May's pathway ; scourge the blustering 

Powers ; 
Sweep the blue heaven of its encumbering showers ; 
Stand to thine own Anointed firm and true, 
And since thou hast enthroned her, let her reign ! 



SPRING SONNETS. XIII. 139 



XIII. 

" Come, May, inspire me !" Not as men of old 
Sought of Apollo and that Holiest Nine 
The influence and energy divine, 
Asked I thine aid, fair Spirit : yet behold ! 
Surely my heart some influence doth enfold, 
Not earthly ! — deep within, the secret mine 
Of joy lies opened to the sunny shine; 
The soil of fancy swarms with flowers untold : 
Some lingering river winds me in ; some star 
Looks softly on me through a mist of gold ; 
In leafy wreaths my limbs imprisoned are, 
Spotted with hawthorn buds ; and roses bold 
Mat my fresh forehead. Oh, not earth nor sky 
Is gladder at thy coming, May, than I. 



140 SHORTER POEMS. 



XIV. 

Such dreams as lovers fancy in their moods 
Of self-excluding selfishness, I dream ; 
Rocking serenely on a lazy stream 
Betwixt green banks encrowned with shady woods : 
Fern hangs therefrom, and grass that with the flood's 
Soft pulse sways slowly, greening the dark wave ; 
And shine upon the waters branches brave 
Of nut and alder, starred with crimsoned buds ; 
And blackest shoots of ash keep serried line 
On one side : on the other, pollard willow 
Flings flickering shadows on the sleepy billow ; 
And wayward ivy and the looped woodbine 
Runs through the trees ; and, crowning all, above 
Sits rosy Venus, star of Eve and Love. 



SPRING SONNETS. XV. 141 



XV. 

Earth gives thee joy, thou yellow crescent moon ! 
From the full cups of flowers, from breathing grass, 
From shy small waves that glitter as they pass, 
From waving branches. Grateful for what boon, 
Loves she the mistress of Night's quiet noon ? 
For light that makes a silver-golden mass 
Of each low pool, — a drop of opal glass 
Of each long dewdrop on the stalks of June ? 
Is it for this she thanks the bounteous Maid, 
The Sun's fair Sister ? Student, from thy cell 
Lean thy pale cheek and answer ! Gentle Lover, 
Thou who hast sate within the beechen shade 
All day, declare the secret ! discover. 
Hot-hearted Sinner ! Mourner, come and tell ! 



MISCELLANEOUS. 



PART THE SECOND. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

PART THE SECOND. 
I. 

In silent hours when I have felt 

As but in silent hours we feel, 
And all that in the past hath dwelt 

The active present would reveal ; 
Religion ! blissfully imbued 

Into the depth of all the scene, 
Thy light hath blest the solitude, 

And made the silence more serene. 

The night fleets on, the dream departs, 

But still is left a kindly glow ; 
For heaven is nearer to our hearts, 

Than worldlings will believe or know : 
And every beam of that world's bliss, 

Though cast thro' clouds that close again. 
In souls not all enslaved to this, 

A cheering presence will remain. 



146 SHORTER POEMS. 



II. THE POETS. 

There is a meadow, which I know full well, 
Near my own summer-home ; and by the stream, 
Which idly flaps in many a tiny cell, 
Scooped by some frenzy of its own, I deem, 
Out of the loamy bank, I lie and dream 
Whole sultry afternoons. Some willows there 
Pile up their silvery cones beneath the beam 
Of the broad sun, and win the laggard air 
To dally with their boughs, they are so light and fair. 

And a stiff alder feeding his green pride 
From the fresh waters ; and an aged thorn, 
Which to the very grass on either side 
Bends his brown boughs most rugged and forlorn ; 
And one old sloe-tree, polished by the horn 
Of many a playful ram, fence round a place, 
A place most pleasant, when the mists of morn 
Are fled, and summer shows her unveiled face, 
Oppressive for the weight of its exceeding grace. 

'Twould seem the nook was furnished by kind elves 
For Oberon's musing ; o'er the water's sound 
The mossy trunk of one great Willow shelves, 
Most slumberously easy ; — near the ground 



MISCELLANEOUS. II. 147 

A single twine of naked root runs round, 
Catching- a cushion of the leaves which fall 
In twinkling showers for ever. Here imbound 
In sleep's soft arms, I lie, a wilUng thrall, 
Oft until evening's grey is gathered over all. 

There I one evening lay ;— the sun was dying ; 
Slant gleams shot off the corn upon the hill 
Into the green recess where I was lying. 
Of coy dame Fancy taking my sweet will : 
My blood went pulsing with the soft half-thrili 
Of strong enjoyment sinking into rest. 
For I had just been bathing in the rill 
My tired and heated limbs ; and now undrest 
They lay by gentle airs in w^anton play caressed. 

I had been walking under roofed woods. 
Thinking of dim, high temples, and the sound 
Of low and dying hymns, like the flapping flood's 
Soft sameness, which crept hushingly around ; 
And every wrinkle in the mossy ground 
Had seemed a yellow-mossed inscription, telling 
Of those whose memories will be ever found 
Writ on the living earth, the gloi-ious dwelling, 
Which they did honour once with presence more 
excelling. 

Then, like a child who with great names and 

things 
Deals lightly, wotting scarce what he may say, 



148 SHORTER POEMS. 

I dreamed of all who from the Immortal Springs 
Have filled and borne a deathless cup away ; 
And haply thought whose wreath of living bay 
I would the soonest wear if I might choose : 
So did I spend the hours of dying* day, 
And the white moonlight sparkling in the dews 
Shone into my dim eyes before I ceased to muse. 

Would I could count the sights that crossed my 

soul! 
Sometime methought I saw an ancient oak, 
The father of a forest ; on its bole 
Shone steady light, and shifting splendour broke 
From its stirred leaves as the autumn wind awoke ; 
But chiefest glory of the ancient tree, 
A Lyre was hung thereon, which never spoke 
But once, when Ariosto's fingers free 
Troubled the silent hours of its tranquillity. 

And then again another fancy came. 
A broad-based monument before my eye 
Grew up. Of marble seemed it, cold as fame, 
And more eternal. Mightily on high 
From out its very middle to the sky 
A Pillar towered, like some old Elm, whose root 
Is heaped with the leaves of many a century 
And Dante's forehead on its top was put. 
Bound with the deathless plant which only bears 
no fruit. 



MISCELLANEOUS. II. 149 

Then I did look upon another shape. 
A proud strong Eagle on a dizzy height 
Sate fearfully. Upon the kingly nape 
Of his high neck a golden chain was pight ; 
Else had he winged his bold unbashful flight 
Into the Heaven of Heavens. His mighty eye 
Sternly drank in the sunbeams, as of right 
His dwelling were among the clouds on high, 
Which strew the great sun's path along the morn- 
ing sky. 

This meant the poet of Lost Paradise. 
Then a fresh form upon my sight did creep ; 
A milk-white lamb, with pleading upturned eyes. 
Deep as the heavens reflected there, did keep 
A noontide rest in grasses green and deep : 
Many rich flowers were thereabout dispread. 
And small gold-winged flies did rustling leap 
Among them ; and a guarded fountain head 
Made music sweet, with which that Creature's 
soul was fed. 

This emblem was of Spenser well I knew. 
Then I looked round, and lo ! a new conceit : 
A lovely serpent, dim, yet bright of hue, 
(Most like a misted prism) about my feet 
With wavelike motion, most serene and sweet. 
Wound harmlessly ; its eyes, as moist and beam- 
ing 



150 SHORTER POEMS. 

As some young hopeless lover's when they meet 
That other which avoids them, dwelt in seeming 
Upon my fear ; half love, half grief at my mis- 
deeming. 

Thus fancy pictured Shelley. Then a Boy 

Stood up before me ; tall and large of brow, 

Among high lilies laughing in the joy 

Of June, he stood ; Endymion had stood so, 

I ween ; so musing in the sunny glow 

Of night and Dian's arms. How gloriously 

Shone that white forehead! yet there lurked below 

A small black worm, which marked that he 

should die, [^y®- 

No less than that fierce light which overflowed his 

And this was Keats. A mystic Harp, twined round 
With delicate flowers , no gro vvth of common earth , 
Stood next before me. Silence most profound 
Held it at first ; then fitfully gushed forth 
Mysterious echoes of melodious mirth ; 
None knew their wherefore save himself who gave 
With his wild hand the wondrous music birth. 
An Ancient Man, to whose wise glances clave 
I.ight cheer, like grasses green gladdening a secret 
grave. 

Thus saw I Coleridge. Then again a change : 
A goodly Pile I saw, upbuilded high 
Into a stormy heaven ; in many a range, 



MISCELLANEOUS. II. 151 

Arch above arch ran up into the sky, 
A mound of building" ; terraced g-orgeously 
Were its inclining sides, and tree and flower 
Varied its face, as oft you may espy 
Upon great Indian palaces : each bower 
Lived, but the frame was clay and shrank with 
every shower. 

In such an emblem Byron did I dress ; 
But my thought changed yet once again, and now 
Upon a flowery plot in quietness 
Sate an Old Man with calm and reverend brow. 
And eyes, which looked into the flowers as though 
They held unto his gaze a written book ; 
And thence he read, in words most sweet and low, 
Tales hidden ofearth's common things ; the brook, 
Lake, and inspiring hills, and soothing forest nook. 

And this was Wordsworth, Earth's Interpreter 
Unto the dull of ear ; and I had long 
Listed his glorious musings, but the stir 
Of love within me craved another song : 
And I took off my eyes, and the thick throng 
Of waiters for his place before my brain. 
Drove on that meek Old Man : but then a tongue 
Of such sweet ravishment as ne'er again 
May turn a deep delight into a rapturous pain. 

Crept round me — oh ! so winningly, that all 
The crowd of musical voices ceased to sing. 



152 SHORTER POEMS. 

And breathlessly 1 listened till the fall ; 

Then starting looked whose fingers struck the j 

string ; 
But 1 saw nothing, save a glistering 
Of golden beams, such as do weave a crown, 
Insufferably blazing, for the King 
Of Day, when from his eastern throne come 

down 
He looks o'er sea, and earth, and air without a 

frown. 

Slowly (the while the heavenly strain grew 

sweeter) 
The spreading hair of that so wondrous light 
Centred to one large burning Star ; oh, meeter 
To hang upon the forehead of the Night, 
Than all the million constellations bright 
That ever flout the presence of young morn 
With the cold radiance of their proud despite. 
But the deep joy with which my soul was torn 
Was far, I ween, too sweet to be by mortal borne ; 

And Shakspeare waked me. Now the grass was 

hoar 
With summer's rivalry of winter's frost ; 
And the white moon outspread her radiance frore 
Over the broad still meadow-sward, embossed 
With ladysmock and kingcup, and the host 
Of summer's menials, in whose gaudier hue 



MISCELLANEOUS. II. 153 

The native ^reen by day was well-nigh lost : 
But all was covered now with glimmering dew, 
And slept all sober-sad and modest to the view. 

But I arose and left that meadow fair, 
Whereon the silver moon so coldly shined, 
And towards the edging of thick trees which there 
Cut their dark outline on the grass, inclined 
My homeward steps, and soon I left behind 
The small brook's shiver, and, the little hill 
Ascending, mixed among dear faces kind ; 
Glad in their human love to warm and fill 
A heart by lonely thought made something dull and 
chill. 



154 SHORTER POEMS. 



III. SONG. 

Blame me not, sweetest, that I play 

With pleasures which thou dost not share ; 

Another's eyes sometimes obey, 

And sometimes wreathe another's hair; 

My fancies may with others be, 

But oh, my heart is still with thee ! 

Some joys so deeply sweet are ours 
That in fond fear to call them up, 

We dally with the gaudy flowers 
That crown the margin of the cup, 

And thus awhile I bend the knee 

To others, ere I kneel to thee ! 

But if thou chidest, I have done : 

And light the task such chains to break ; 

In thy sweet strength the glory won, 
The toil encountered for thy sake ; 

And then my fancies too will be 

Where my heart is — with thee ! — with thee ! 



MISCELLANEOUS. IV. 155 



IV. THE AWAKING OF THE SLEEPER. 

She wakes ! the impatient blood springs up 
From slumber's chain to claim its right ; 

And sudden, like a mantling cup, 
Her cheek o'erflows with rosy light. 

And those large eyes awake and play, 
With mustered glory newly burning ; 

Like stars that nurse their fires by day 
At even to their task returning. 



156 SHORTER POEMS. 



V. SLEEPS PRAISE. 



Dear , would that tliou wert here !| 

A simple wish, yet true, 
And linked to visions far more dear 

Than ever fancy drew : 
The vision of thine own soft eyes, 

Thy voice's pleasant tone, 
The pressure of thy hand, that tries 

Kind contest with mine own. 

Thine eyes raised fondly unto mine, 

Thy soft brown eyes I see, 
And meanings soft that in them shine, 

All born of love to me : 
I know not if to others they 

Wear such a gentle glow. 
But they are lovelier than the Day 

To me, full well I know. 

I feel thee nestling in my breast, 

My arms about thee twined ; 
My head bent down takes happy rest, 

Upon thine own reclined : 
My arm is at thy side the while, 

And when thy heart beats fast, 
I start, and catch the meaning smile 

So fondly upward cast. 



MISCELLANEOUS. V. 157 

O blessed be sleep that can o'erleap 

The toils of time and place, 
And bring the lonely ones that weep, 

To converse face to face ! 
TKere lie long* miles of fertile land 

Betwixt me and my joy, 
And yet in sleep I hold thy hand, 

And press thy cheek, my boy ! 



158 SHORTER POEMS. 



VI. TO A LITTLE SISTER. 

Come to me, child, come climb my knee. 
Kiss me, nurse me, fondle me, 
Blessedest creature 'neath the skies ; 
Wind thy little arms about me, 
With thy flaxen tresses flout me, 
Flinging them upon my eyes. 
Kiss me, kiss me, little sister. 
Far I went, oh far away, 
Many a long" and lingering day, 
Shall I tell her how I missed her, 
Little darling and her play ? 

There were friends, kind friends and many, 

Where I went, yet still I said, 

" Oh, I want the best of any ! 

Where you are not, little Fanny, 

Who shall comfort me instead ?" 

Some were men with fiery passions 

Writ on brows not all unscathed, 

In the Styx of worldly fashions 

They their tender hearts had bathed ; 

Surely none of these were they 

Who could teach — if so could any — 

To forget your graceful play, 

Pure and peaceful sister Fanny ! 

Some are fond and gentle-souled, 



MISCELLANEOUS. VI. 159 

And their love sweet rest ensures, 
Yet their g-reetings seemed but cold, 
And their love but dead to yours. 
They can never climb my knee. 
Kiss me, nurse me, fondle me, 
Make me lie and hide my face 
And the woefullest case to feign. 
Pressure close and dear embrace 
Of thy smooth soft arms to gain ; 
Or to win by feigning- slumber 
(While a sly still watch I keep) 
Balmy kisses without number. 
Showered upon my seeming sleep. 

Blessedest creature, mildest-eyed, 
Meekest- mannered, gentlest- hearted ! 
I'll not murmur at thy side 
Of the time when we were parted ; 
Come, sweet sister, climb my knee. 
Kiss me, nurse me, fondle me ! 



160 SHORTER POEMS. 



VII. 



I've loved thee now, my little boy, 

Thro' many a mood of wayward feeling-, 
And grief hath wrought thee no annoy, 
And when my heart was drunk with joy, 

I felt the intoxication stealing* 
With treacherous influence throug-h my frame, 
Yet loved thee, loved thee still the same. 

In joy I loved thee well, heaven knows, 
And in these recent hours of sorrow. 
When dawn seemed dark as evening's close, 
Still softly through the gloom arose 

The purpling streaks of this to-morrow. 
And still to thee my spirit came, 
And loved thee, loved thee still the same. 

And when my earliest worldly care 

Closed round ; and by its shade was driven 
The light of earthly things most fair. 
And even heaven's light shone dimly there, 

One star amid my darkened heaven 
Yet burnt with calm unflickering flame, 
I loved thee, loved thee still the same. 

Yet not alone in joy and woe ; 

For when' my soul was stirred in travail 



MISCELLANEOUS. Vll. 161 

Of that new birth that irked me so, 
And all my ties to things below 

My heart was busy to unravel, 
One purest bond I yet might claim, 
And love thee, love thee still the same. 

So fear not thou, nor will I fear 

That aught shall work our love's defeature; 
It stood when life and death drew near. 
It stood while angels tarrying here 

Changed earthly to an heavenly nature. 
And now be sure, come praise or blame, 
I'll love thee, love thee still the same. 



162 SHORTER POEMS. 



vm. 

The fields have got their bounds at last, 

A visible confinement ; 

Of green protection from the blast 

Their summer's full assignment : 

No matter though the shade o'erhead 

Be something of the thinnest ; — 

Thy work, blithe spring, will soon be sped, 

But end as thou beginnest. 

But work as blithely on and on, 
Glad spring ! the elms are greening ; 
His crimson crowns the larch hath won ; 
'His grandeur overweening 
The chestnut hath begun to wear ; 
The oaken sprouts are tender ; 
The beech upon the illumined air 
Unfolds a golden splendour. 

The currant walls are full of flower. 

Behold, the fair pale clusters 

Are lengthening, lengthening hour by hour ; 

The careful pear-tree musters 

His blossoms for a stealthy show 

In nooks and corners suiting ; 



MISCELLANEOUS. VIII. 163 

The tender peach is fair in blow, 
Yet fairer than in fruiting* ! 

The wanton cherry hides his joy 

In mimicry of winter ; 

Like lines of snow his branches lie 

Shot from a snowy centre, 

A radiant image ! — far and wide 

The strawberry flowers are crowding ; 

Stars which no night can wholly hide, 

Nor clouds be overclouding. 

The dog-rose shoots are yet astray 

'Twixt colour and material ; 

The woodbine spray might fade away 

In radiance aerial, 

So faint it is, upon the tree 

So light the leaflets quiver ; — 

iA visible scent that green might be, 

Or a shadow in a river. 

O spring, while thou wert taking rest 

A weary time we waited ; 

The fire of hope within the breast 

In turn increased, abated; 

We watched the change of every breeze, 

Each cloud the breeze impeding ; 

Bare as a row of leafless trees 

Crept day to day succeeding. 



164 SHORTER POEMS. 

But then arose upon the gloom 
This dawn ; those feeble creepers 
Were buried in a flowery tomb, 
With April showers for weepers ; 
Now comes a franker Set— in haste 
Of well-doing, unwearied, 
Yet still is plain and uneffaced 
The tomb where those are buried. 

No matter ! — nay, 'tis well, 'tis best, 
Tis joy's most sure assurance 
To bear engraven in the breast 
The signs of past endurance ; 
That smile is sweetest which comes tlius 
From grief; most safe that pleasure, 
Which God Himself hath offered us, 
And mixed in His own measure. 



MISCELLANEOUS. IX. 165 



IX. AN OLD MAN TO HIS LITTLE CHILD. 

Come, come, my child, come play, come play, 
The sun so bright will fade away, — 
Come haste ere yet thine hour be past 
And thy young life's sky grow overcast. 

Ay, 'twill be so, my little child, 
Thy spring must some time be defiled, 
It cannot run for long below 
But something will bedim its water, 
Oh be it but a rock to throw 
A shade, and not a stain, to flow 
Still with the stream, my daughter ! 
God grant it be no more than this ; 
And yet 'tis sad to think of thee. 
When that sweet eye that now with bliss 
Runs over, catching from the kiss 
Of sunbeams dwelling lingeringly, 
That shifting, eddying, gentle light 
So dear unto an old man's sight 
Whose own is dim as dim can be,— 
When that shall be as dim as his, 
Yet thou not half so old as he ! 

Surely 'tis saddening so to think, 
Yet surely, surely 'twill be so ; 



166 SHORTER POEMS. 

And thou wilt sit beside the brink 
Of this g-reat whirling world, and throw 
Thy loves thereon, — to float and flow 
Awhile, and then to sink ! 

Oh my soul grieves to dwell thereon ; 

'Twould be so, if I had no share 

Of thine affection more than One 

Who never looked on thee till now, 

Might claim in right of silver hair 

From one so young as thou. 

A debt doth Childhood owe to Age, 

Their gentlest play, their sweetest smile, 

The aching spirit to assuage 

Ere yet a farther pilgrimage 

It take, unto that blissful isle. 

Which ever lieth just before us. 

From the first hour we di"aw our breath 

To that when peace at last comes o'er us 

In the still hour of death ; 

That isle which some call love, and some 

Call peace, and some, I ween, call fame, 

Whence none that reach it, ever come 

To signify its name. 

How well thou listenest, Little One, 
And yet thou knowest not the meaning 
Of half my words,— but I have done. 
And surely, child, thy patient gleaning 
Of wisdom's ears to thee yet green. 



MISCELLANEOUS. X. 167 

Strown by thine earthly sire, I ween, 
May be a lesson well for me 
To learn and store that I the rather 
With ear as glad, and faith as free, 
May list the dark lore dealt to me 
By my eternal Father ! 



X. INSCRIPTION 

FOR AN ARBOUR FORMED OUT OF A LARCxE 
CLEMATIS. 

Now if thy heart be fitly framed to meet 
The kindly purpose of this sunny seat, 
Call for the viol, reach the goblet down ; 
I'll give the lyre a wreath, the cup a crown. 



168 SHORTER POEMS. 



XI. TRANSLATION. .ENEID IV. 522-9. 

'TwAS night, and weary things through all the 

earth 
Were tasting placid slumber ; and the woods, 
And the fierce surface of the sea had rest ; 
— The hour when all the stars in middle lapse 
Are rolling, and the earth is still below ; 
The cattle of the field, and the gay fowl, 
And all that in the liquid lake's expanse, 
Or in the tufted champaign, lives and dwells. 
All 'neath the still night-heaven lying asleep, 
Rested, forgetful of the toils of day. 



MISCELLANEOUS. XII. 169 



XII. A VISION FOR A MAY NOON. 

A LONG, long- avenue of noble Trees, 

Between whose feet, and shadowed by whose shade 

A lucid tide, untroubled by the breeze. 

To their dark boughs a watchful mirror made : 

And silvery voices through the verdant screen 

Stealing, and trembling on the quiet flood ; 

And pauses of a sweeter hush between, 

But broken by the softly -pulsing blood ; 

And maidens in a ring about a boy. 

Where the tide ended in a grassy shelf; 

Whose floating tresses 'twas his fond employ 

To pleach with rosy garlands for himself. 

And tap their dewy cheeks and kiss their lips. 

And be as half a lover, half a brother. 

And lead their eyes into a soft eclipse 

With playful pressure, now one, now another ; 

Sometimes half veiling blue eyes with their lid 

To see them shadowed through the filmy veil, 

Now letting fiery orbs be semi-hid 

In contrast with the enclosure lily-pale. 



170 SHORTER POEMS. 



XIII. YESTERDAY. 

Yesterday ! 'tis past — 'tis gone, 
Life and Love so hurry on. 
Love and Hope and Joy embracing- ! 
Where is fled that band so gay ? 
Seraph's arms are interlacing, 
Lo ! they bear them far away : 
Fitting portage ! worthy freight ! 
Heaven is glad at guests so fair, 
Music echoes in the air. 
Bat the earth is desolate. 

Yesterday I sate beside 
Him I loved at eventide : 
Calmly in the consecration 
Of a hope attained with toil. 
Love's strong thrill and exultation 
Fell to silence and a smile : 
I perceived the earth meanwhile 
Rolling underneath my feet, 
'Twas a motion strange and sweet ; 
Films of shadow did beguile 
Silly Eve of all her treasure ; 
Crimson larch-buds in the green 



MISCELLANEOUS. XIII. 171 

Lamped no more ; no more were seen 
Daisies set in merry measure, 
Merry measure yet serene. 
Low and lower sang- the cuckoo, 
Faint and fainter answered Echo : 
All the while my love and I 
Saw one sight, the sparkling- sky ; 
Heard one sound, the night's still tread 
Underfoot and overhead ; 
Felt one feeling, round, above. 
Below, but most within, — 'twas love. 

There is a time when love is more 
Than life ; and there are some so free 
From clogging earth's infirmity. 
That their pure spirit bubbles o'er 
This golden goblet of our flesh, 
Alike at Morning clear and fresh, 
And Noon, and Night ; alone at Even, 
When earth holds colloquy with heaven, 
Comes such high mood to me ; 
But then, or if not only so. 
Yet oftenest and with deepest glow. 

Shadowy films stole one by one 
Silly Eve's delight away ; 
Her bright crown that by her lay 
(Woven wild flowers fair and gay), 
Night first laid her hand upon. 
Then as though in stealthy play, 



172 SHORTER POEMS. 

Weighing by the impurpled rim 

To the attendant seraphim, 

Quick she gave the cirque, which thej'- 

To her treasure caves convey. 

Grass grew brown that had been green ; 

Hawthorn buds retired to keep 

Pensive watch or quieter sleep ; 

In the meadow that had been 

As a joyous congregation, 

For its stirring eager glee, 

Silence with the adumbration 

Deepened, deepened sensibly. 

Crake among the bladed corn, 

Stirring cuckoo in the thorn. 

Thrush, and finch, and larch were still ; 

Down the valley, up the hill 

Ran the water's voice subdued ; 

Was it strange that holy mood 

Gathered like a voice divine, 

Round our hearts, my love's and mine ? 

Yesterday is fled ; the blank 
Of a Night most dark and dank 
Hath defiled the blissful eve ! 
Shadows ready to deceive 
Hung around, their hue was fair, 
Love and Joy are hidden there. 



MISCELLANEOUS. XIV. 173 



XIV. RETURN. 

" The stream which in some meadow sward 

Goes doubling, like a thing* in fear, 

Is not so fond of its long grass, 

And shadowy lights that come and pass, 

As I of those sweet thoughts that guard 

My lingering sojourn here." 

So thought I, when two years ago 

I, half a man and half a boy, 

Looked sadly forward to the day 

When my life's stream should turn away 

From this green land to which I owe 

So long a course of joy. 

My friends derided me for this : 
And straightway my impatient blood 
Reproved me for the hasty doubt 
That there was land as fair without, 
A land as fair and full of bliss, 
Though of a sterner mood. 

So forth I went in youthful glee ! 
As frolic as a spring that leaps 



174 SHORTER POEMS. 

To change its quiet verdurous nest, 
A hollow in the mountain's breast, 
For granite cleft precipitously, 
Ravines, and shelves and steeps. 

I went : I left this sunny shade ; 

I passed into a gloomy air ; 

No wonder that the animal blood 

Could never stir to any good 

The qold damp gloom on all bespread, 

The chill spread everywhere. 

Some eves there were when sunnier cheer 
Clothed heaven's bedarkened dome ; 
Some nights when in the cloisters' state, 
Or groves with spring illuminate, 
I walked with friends long known, and dear 
And felt almost at home. 

But still my heart uneasily 

Took pleasure even of that which pleased ; 

The flower-plots might be fair and fine, 

I only felt they were not mine, 

And what I crept with thievish glee 

I cropt, and joy diseased. 

But now among my olden haunts 

I walk at home by Avon's side — 

At home ! my heart with gathered wings 

Sits quiet on her nest and sings ; 



MISCELLANEOUS. XIV. 175 

She knows her place, she knows her wants, 
And how they are supplied. 

Who on a barren moor hath been 

Pelted with hail as sharp as glass ? 

Let him be folded suddenly 

In a green field with a blue sky, 

Walled round with elm trees tall and green, 

And spread with greenest grass ; 

The sun will breathe upon his cheek 
With almost fatherly protection : 
The visitings of the outer breeze, 
That struggle through the jealous trees, 
Will be like kisses kind and meek 
Of sisterly affection. 

With such a grateful quietness 
Among my olden haunts I go ; 
And own again earth's genial power, 
Laid up in sky and field and flower. 
The swelling wolds to breathe and bless, 
The azure heavens to glow. 



176 SHORTER POEMS. 



XV. 

I KISSED her lids so motionless, 
I kissed her lips, — she never stirred : 
I whispered in her ear, — I guess 
That loving tone she never heard : 
Dead to my praise and my caress 
Was my sweet sing-ing-bird. 

Darts of a sunny light shot in 
Through shutter old and green old glass, 
They cut the dusk, — they lit the skin 
With lustre outside warm, — alas, 
The bed itself was warm within 
As that sweet body was ! 



MISCELLANEOUS. XVI. 177 



XVI. ARMORIA S GARDEN. 

The place was silent, but most beautiful ; 
And for the habitation of strange forms 
Such as old Pan, well fitted, but no less 
Nay more, for creatures of a pure pale grace 
Like Dryads — shadowy spirits of the trees. 

Flowers of all country's kinds were gathered there 
Uprising vase-like shapes of bush and stalk 
Gemmed with all colours and all shapes of bud, 
And sweeping trails of amaranthine blooms 
Crossing the lucent air, aswing or still, 
Rosy or white or pleading violet, 
With surfeit of sweet scent weighed down and sick, 
Or barren to all harvest save of sight. 
All kinds of trees were there, graceful or strong : 
Palms bowdng or quite still (as listening 
Unto, the whispering wind,) big chestnut boughs 
Such as roof over ^Etna's choicest shelves ; 
Fir ; spicy walnut ; feathery tamarisk, 
Lady of trees ; and graceful willow sad, 
With whose grey leaf lorn lovers deck themselves ; 
Ash, both which lays light finger on the breeze 
Aspiring, and her sister that bends back 
Her bashfuller branches from the bold blue sky 
Even as a creature fearful or ashamed ; 



178 SHORTER POEMS. 

Pines with their cones thickset, and mighty oak, 
And heavy fig, and pattering sycamore. 
All mingled there from east or golden west 
Or north or sunny south, — to frame a place 
Of walled and roofed arcade and pillared aisle, 
Branching away into dim nave and choir 
.And cupola above and niche (wherein 
Lay saint-like forest flower, so frail and meek) 
And all the graceful or aspiring forms 
That art imagines and man's hand perfects. 



MISCELLANEOUS. XVII. 179 



XVII. AN ARIA. 

Love me, fair lady, for my golden hair ! 
The kneeling stripling sighed. The lady said : 
Though sunvset's glory on thy locks were shed, 
And brilliance like the rising sun's were there, 
'Twere yet no gain to thee, I should not care. 
The willow boughs that dally with the spring 
Are to my soul as much a dearer thing 
As to my simple eye they are more fair. 
Then he devised another fruitless prayer ; 
Quoth he : My tongue is deftly set and sharp, 
I can speak music like that twangling harp 
That holds sweet colloquy with the evening air. 
Said she : I doubt not, yet the simple voice 
Of one meek flower that humbly doth rejoice 
And counts its graces borrowed, I declare, 
Hath to my ear a tone more soft and rare 
Than thy twined mazes of a selfish pride, 
Which music's labyrinths, impotent to hide. 
Make known, as clear as it unguarded were. 
Now rack me, lady, said the youth, my wit 
Was cunningly tortured to a converse fit 
To shew thine own perfections :— soothly there 
Thou hast well taught me of what worth they are . 



180 SHORTER POEMS. 



XVIII. 

Th ey say that love is full of fears, 
And well 1 know they speak the truth, 
For I have loved, with sm iles and tears 
And all the fiery haste of youth ; 
And I have had in woman's breast 
A partner for my grief and joy, 
Yet never felt that perfect rest 
Which now 1 feel in thee, my boy ! 
Till friendship's chain is snapt in twain 
I will not sue to love again. 

Let woman's eyes in truth or guile 
Weep, laugh, or sneer, 'tis nought to me, 
While I command thy sunny smile. 
And live with friendship and with thee ; 
Love's cheek will shrink, his hair turn grey, 
His lip grow thin, his eye grow dull. 
While thou to me, boy, day by day 
Canst only grow more beautiful ; 
Changing the child's for manhood's dress, 
And innocence for uprightness. 

Aye, friend, young friend, a single day 
To see thee smile and hear thee speak. 



MISCELLANEOUS. XIX. 181 

Were joy enough to smooth away 

An age of wrinkles from the cheek ; 

And if so blest a state as this 

God willeth should not thus remain, 

I will not grieve, thou'lt be in bliss 

And I — oh surely not in pain , 

For when thou'rt gone, my heart must be 

In highest heaven along with thee ! 



XIX. INSCRIPTION FOR A FOUNTAIN. 

Lean down, O stranger ! if thine ear be pure 
Thou shalt hear music leaning so, be sure, 
Sweet tiny music in my plashing falls 
Inwoven, with serenest intervals. 
It is the Spirit of the Spring who calls, 
Wherefore lend thou a pure and patient ear 
And be thou strong of faith and persevere. 



182 SHORTER POEMS. 



XX. SIR LEONARD. 

A DARK red stain is on his hand, 
His hand is redder than his face ; 
His face is yellow as the sand ; 
His brow is shrunk as if a band 
Of scorching iron ringed it round ; 
And he is in a secret place, 
A-lying on the ground. 

Into the loose blue loamy mould 

He thrusts his hand — 'tis haply hot ; 

For Leonard is a warrior bold, 

His dagger's hilt is rough with gold 

And jewels sharp and apt to gall, 

• — ^That yellow brow, that ruddy spot, 

O heed them not at all ! 

Sir Leonard homeward went. He heired 
His kinsman's land — hill, wood, and glade ; 
But never more his wrist he bared 
To man or woman loved or feared ; 
No hawk sate there from Whitsun eve, 
But night and morn, and sun and shade, 
He hid it in his sleeve. 



MISCELLANEOUS. XXT. 183 



XXI. 

'Tis past for me, 
The sorrow and the shame is past away ; 

The eye which painfully 
Looked on thine honom-'s sudden disarray 
Hath worn its path, and speeds without dismay ; 

Nay, joy hath taken root. 

Blossomed and borne its fruit, 
Upon the rifted tree but smitten yesterday. 

'Tis past for me, 
The cloud is melted into milky rain ; 

The lily sad to see 
Hath lifted up its pearly head again ; 
Therefore 'tis past, the sorrow and the pain ; 

And shame is swiftly bent 

I nto a blithe content, 
And pride hath found a soil in seeming of disdain. 



184 SHORTER POEMS. 



XXII. 



If I desire with pleasant song's 

To throw a merry hour away, 
Comes Love unto me, and my wrongs 

In careful tale he doth display, 
And asks me how I stand for singing- 
While I my helpless hands am wringing. 

And then another time if I 

A noon in shady bower would pass, 
Comes he with stealthy gestures sly 

And flinging down upon the grass , 
Quoth he to me : my master dear, 
Think of this noontide such a year ! 

And if elsewhile I lay my head 
On pillow with intent to sleep. 

Lies Love beside me on the bed, 

And gives me ancient words to keep ; 

Says he : these looks, these tokens number, 

May-be, they'll help you to a slumber. 

So every time when I would yield 
An hour to quiet, comes he still ; 

And hunts up eveiy sign concealed 
And every outward sign of ill ; 

And gives me his sad face's pleasures 

For merriment's or sleep's or leisure's. 



MISCELLANEOUS. XXIII. 185 



XXIII. GODS GIFT. 

God gave a precious gift to me, a gift of love and 

bliss, 
A friend in whom my trust, my hope, and all my 

pleasure is : 

friend, young friend ! deceive me not, nay, thou 

hast not power, in sooth, 
For thou art God's own gift to me, who is the God 
of Truth. 

A year, a perfect year, my love, I've known and 

loved thee now, 
Nor seen one stringing of the lip, one darkening 

of the brow ; 
Nor heard one tone of sneer or scorn, one tone too 

proud or free ; 
One wayward word to any one, far less, far less 

to me ! 

1 saw thee and I sought thee, 'twas a prize that 

might repay 
For many a night of weariness and many a weary 

day ; 
I have sought thee, I have won thee ; oh the net 

is firm and fast. 



186 SHORTER POEMS. 

And thy heart of hearts, my timorous bird ! is 
mine, is mine at last ! 

And / love thee, how fervently ! As a father loves 

his son, 
As a brother loves his brother who hath never had 

but one. 
As a mother loves the tiny thing that lies across 

her knee, 
So faithfully, so fondly I, my little friend, love thee. 

We are not made alike, young friend ! thine eye 

is full of ease, 
Thy heart is pure, and deep, and full as a spring* 

among the trees ; 
And a playing-place for dainty smiles is that fair 

cheek of thine. 
And glimpses of a joyful peace less earthly than 

divine. 

And I — but if I am not thus — if weary in my youth. 
Weary of long and fruitless search for love, and 

peace, and truth, 
I've wandered, to my sorry night be thou the 

joyous day ; 
In thine innocence will I be calm, and in thy good- 
ness gay. (8) 



MISCELLANEOUS. XXIV. 187 



XXIV. 

Maidens ! what's the matter here ? 

What sly snake hath stung us ? 
Heaving heart, and sigh, and tear ! 

Ah ! young Love's among us ! 
Come ! join hands — be quick — be still, 
And we'll hunt him out, we will ! 

He has rosy cheeks, be't said ; 

Eyes of stariy lustre ; 
Round his lips so ripe and red 

Milky dimples muster; 
But he's armed and stout of limb, 
So we must be rid of him. 

He has arrows sharp and sure, 
And a bow — the strongest ; 

Whom he wounds will want a cure, 
'Twill be of the longest ; 

Arrowy glances, whispers small, 

These are what he fights withal. 

Who is here with starry eyes, 
Cheeks like snow sun-smitten, 

Melting lips, like strawberries 
Begging to be bitten ? 



188 SHORTER POEMS. 

Seize the same, if such there be, 
She's in the conspiracy. 

But who here with charms and wit 
Hath a kindly nature ? 

There's the boy, be sure of it, 
She conceals the traitor ; 

Rid of her — ah ! then, I know 

Love will never plague us so ! 



SONNETS 

PERSONAL AND OCCASIONAL. 



SONNETS. 



A SPLENDOUR lodges in the tents of nig-ht ; — 
Yon blazing' sun with all his thronging train 
Of amber cloudlets flecked with purple grain 
But now is entered in : how gay and bright 
Must be the interior presence, what delight 
! On the dark forehead of the Ethiop eve 
Once more the spousal Glory to receive ! 
—With such fond shapes did the antique fancy spite 
Her own bedarkened soul ; yet have we leave 
To trick our knowledge with like graceful art ; 
Yet may we, dallying with a similar skill, 
Give God's obedient orb a regal will 
And form and members ; and to shadowy eve 
Assign a tented home and woman's heart. 



192 SHORTER POEMS. 



II. TO STEPHEN LANGTON, 

WHO DIVIDED THE BIBLE INTO CHAPTERS AND 
VERSES. 



i 



Langton ! a due of praise not easily paid, 
And thanks than praise thrice heavier, unto thee 
By every Christian votary offered be ! 
Our rich but tangled Eden thou hast made 
Familiar as the garden where we played 
In chil dhood safely ; with observant grace 
Leading a broad highway to each high place, -m 
Laying a path through every darkened glade. * 
Many in watches of the night awake 
Have thanked thee ; many in the mid-day sun ; 
Many when mindful age and sickness sore 
Stung them ; in youth and health full many an one; 
But on that bed, where all for once partake 
Terrorless hope, or hopeless terror, more. 



OCCASIONAL SONNETS. III. 193 



III. TO THE SAME. 

Some to wild hope and craving desolation 
Giving fond ear, have deemed that earthly veord 
To dead men's souls in gratitude preferred, 
Word of praise, prayer, thanks, love, commemora- 
tion, 
Upfloating, like a dewy exhalation, 
The quiet heights of heaven's own air hath stirred; 
A thing not unacceptably seen and heard 
By blissful angels in supremest station. 
If this be so, a glitter of bright thanks, 
Langton, upon thy course of heavenly duty 
Must wait, like mists that trace a river's banks 
About a fertile flat in glimmering beauty, 
What time the sun is wan and near to die, 
And evening's planet largest in the sky. 



194 SHORTER POEMS. 



IV. WILDERSMOUTH. 

Those wavy Tors ! in many a mid-day dieam 
My fancy up the furzy steep hath twined, 
And brought the influence of the fresh sea-wind 
Down to the combe, beneath a sultiy beam 
Languidly stretched in slumber ; still I seem 
Beneath the damp shade of the rocks to find 
The urchin and the cowrie fairly lined, 
And satinstone of soft and snowy gleam : 
And still the straggling Wilder to waylay 
With piled-up fragments ; to deceive again 
The limpet weary of the weighty sea ; 
To catch once more the impooled anemone, 
Which, all unconscious of the ebbing main, 
Shone, as a midnight rainbow softly gay. 




OCCASIONAL SONNETS. V. 195 



V. 



It is no ready coin of the lavish tongue 

That coins its own and scants not of its gifts, 

If I affirm that now my Cottage lifts 

Its snowy brow with purple clusters hung ; 

If now the home, fore-honoured and fore-sung 

Opens its quiet chambers, low nor light, 

Yet gladdened by the wave, whose shadows bright 

Through casements wide on roof and wall are flung : 

The humming burden of a sea self-pleased, 

And fretted by no ebb like ours at home, 

Sings ever through the air, itself so quiet ; 

And cheerful vines, proud of their fruitage, riot 

Under the eaves, and up the rooftree roam, 

Their gadding humour scarce ev'n then appeased. 



196 SHORTER POEMS. 



VI 



Like some half-seen and half-imagined Star, 

Guessed in the blue when sun and moon are meeting, 

Methinks the Italian land so.fair and far 

Across the sea deputes a fancied greeting : 

The golden waves, from that rich land retreating, 

Toy with the prey that will be theirs so soon ; (9) 

And Nice's silver bells beneath the moon 

Are now to eve their gentle faith repeating. 

I can already see the encrimsoned strand. 

Dowered by the sunset ; and the snowy Hills 

Lift a continuous crown into the sky 

Upon the left : and where methinks I stand, 

A little myrtle-guarded Cottage fills 

Its small home-plot with peace, and love, and joy. 



OCCASIONAL SONNETS. VII. 197 



VII. 



Unto the hills and groves of other lands 
Thou, little book, art giv'n ; all these soft leaves, 
Rustling so freshly to each breeze that weaves 
Its delicate network o'er the fair sea sands ; 
These fragile flowers that with their milky hands 
Catch and keep prisoners all odours sweet ; 
These hills that meet to part, and part to meet ; 
And this wild brook, the meadow's pleasant bands, 
Are fair, how fair ! — But not for thee, I ween, 
They utter sweetness from a hundred tongues : 
Thou art the mirror whereupon must twine 
Fairer in shadow the delicious vine. 
Faithfully flattered ; and the measured throngs 
Of cypress boughs wifh Roman stars between. 



198 SHORTER POEMS. 



Vm. THE TEMPLE-CAVES OF ELEPHANTA, 

m THE BAY OF BOMBAY. 

Lame grandeur — grace forlorn ! — such consolation 
Speak we of halls by Time's inconstant whim 
Wounded, then healed : in this vast antre dim 
A lowlier mood befits, for here Creation 
Worked half the work, man's slow co-operation 
But niching and enchiselling God's design ; 
Nature and art co-workers. See ! the brine 
Is here, the mindful sea's commemoration 
(Annually served) of brotherhood in birth : (10) 
No place is this by freak of doting Time 
Untenanted ; this plashy Chamber's shade 
Man fled in fear ; but nature undismayed 
Still dwells here, careless that the giddy Earth 
Flouts the dark portal with its goldenest clime. 




OCCASIONAL SONNETS. IX. 199 



IX. 



Most glad it is to view a pleasant thing 
That shall be soon to us but is not yet, 
All stealthy, like the greenness of the spring 
The foresent brightness of its coming set 
Upon life's trodden paths; — more glad, how oft. 
Than that it heraldeth. So have I met 
The dawning on a mountain-top, while soft 
As one that doth unvest a wounded man, 
He hath disgirt him of his mists, and laid 
His scarred beauty bare ; and more my sight 
Was pleased when glade stole softly after glade, 
And purple knoll and steamy lake grew bright, 
Than when my eye with easy compass ran 
O'er his broad brow encrowned with perfect 
light. (11) 



200 SHORTER POEMS. 



X. ON CERTAIN PSALMODY. 

The rudest minstrelsy that ever woke 
A smile upon a Lyrist's cheek is this ; 
Yet words of love, and holiest happiness 
Are buried in the noise ; and every stroke 
Of that dull voice fastens a heavier yoke 
On words by David uttered, while the morn 
Gleefully tossed his hoary hair forlorn, 
And wrapt the harp in the uplifted cloak ;— 
Dress, heart, and spirit wild with one delight ! 
But so 'tis the condition of our being 
That we from pain, annoyance, and unrest, 
Must sift our blessings, if we would be blest ; 
Through earth's discordancies of sound and sight 
With inner apprehension , hearing, seeing. 



OCCASIONAL SONNETS. XI. 201 



XI. 



Youth hath a house, a lean and raftered place, 
Which hath two windows turned to Love and Fame ; 
Fair prospects either whereupon to gaze, 
Methinks I now may shortly read the same : 
Green is the First, a smooth and swarded land, 
Dipping and folding into gentle vales ; 
Flowery and warm it is, and near at hand. 
And golden sunshine sleeps in all the dales ; 
But full of naked peaks, all bare and cold, 
And glinting to a moon most calm and bright. 
The Other Region, rugged to behold, 
Keeps afar off a still and stern delight. 
Now have I read them, and I know full well 
On which my eye would rather choose to dwell. 



202 SHORTER POEMS. 



XII. 

The still moon peering through half-parted folds 
Of silken curtains into chambers warm 
With luxury and thronged with revellers, 
In thoughtful minds a longing memory stirs 
Of the pure splendours banished, and remoulds 
The unshaped heart to nature's ancient form : 
So is it when cold gleams of naked Tnith, 
Whose home is in a higher, purer sphere, 
Shoot on us in our busy questioning 
Of the eternal lips of the world's youth. 
The Poets and the Sages of that Spring, 
Which since hath come unto the blossoming ; 
So then the heathen page is dropped in fear 
Even as the winecup of the wassailer. 



OCCASIONAL SONNETS. XIII. 203 



XIII. 

Surely they plead but ill who would excuse 
The hardness of their nature, for that they 
Live ever from the natural world away, — 
Its mountains, meadows, valleys, streams ; and 

bruise 
Their hearts into unfeelingness with use 
Continual and forced, of barren walls 
Whereon the sun's bright presence never falls. 
Nor cheering glitter of the starry dews. 
This even have I stood within the heart 
Of the stern city ; sluggishly crept round 
The wintry mists, but blessedly above 
Hung the meek crescent-moon in light and love, 
And never would I pleasure more profound 
Than that I tasted in the echoing mart. 



204 SHORTER POEMS. 



XIV. TO THE STARS. 

What shall we call you, peaceful Visitants ? 
Glad eyes of heaven, with light intelligent, 
And comprehension, on our dwellings bent ? 
Or, fitting still our fancies to our wants. 
Shall we salute you as the lights made ready 
In the far homes wherein we are to dwell, 
Cheering us on through labour long and steady 
That is between us and our tabernacle ? 
Or, as the hurrying Sceptic's careless glance, 
And stony heart would judge you, silly Balls 
Played with for ever by an idle Chance, 
Himself sole ruler in the heavenly halls ; 
— Now thanks to that within us which refuses 
Which it rejects to doubt, and which it chooses ! 



OCCASIONAL SONNETS. XV. 205 



XV. 



What is thy lore, O dial of the sky, 
Rare book with all thy golden letters rare ? 
Broad Heavens ! unfold your lesson, for the prayer 
Is humble ; what the profit if we lie 
And glean the "■ harvest of a quiet eye ?" 
Peace, in the silence of the kindled air, 
Peace in each freighted star which, floating there, 
Rides at its golden anchor peacefully. 
O would that Man (a riotous multitude 
Through all the earth) before his aching head 
Sought the brief refuge of the hasty bed, 
Would mark for one short moment the still mood 
Of heaven above him, when the bright stars shed 
Their silent influence; — it would be for good. 



206 SHORTER POEMS. 



XVI. 

To souls bred up to learn what may be learned, 
The blank of heaven with wisdom runneth o'er ; 
Silence is oft a golden monitor : 4 

And mutest flies, and insects undiscerned 
By the bare eye, to those whose hearts have yearned 
To know truth, wonder, and earth's noblest lore, 
Have spoken to the heart and feeling more ''Mk 
Than hath to eye and hearing been returned "" 
By colour, shape or voice ; wherefore have men, 
The wisest, grudged not an unthrifty leaning 
For hours against a tree in some still glen, 
Or by the marge of brook or ocean ; gleaning 
From all the wondrous things discovered then, 
A rule for thoughts unjust or overweening. 



OCCASIONAL SONNETS. XVil. 207 



XVII. 

If I have dared too early to unlock 
The sealed cavern of my inner heart, 
And spied, where nestling in the barren rock 
Of human passion, thou, sweet fountain, art 
Whose suppliance, I would almost hope, may be 
From the great depths of ancient poesy ; 
Thou joyous fountain, chasing thine own waves 
Round the smooth cauldron which thy game hath 

worn: 
Be he the judge whose own soul inly saves 
One holy spot by life's rough jars untorn, — 
A spot to turn to, or when fortune smiles not, 
Or ache the sorrows time itself beguiles not ; 
The home where dwell, or dwelt in days gone by. 
The sisterhood unparted — Youth, Love, Poesy. 



208 SHORTER POEMS. 



XVIII. 

You need not tell me how they loved of yore — 
Not that immortal Mantuan's golden strain, (12) 
Not Shakspeare's liquid lute could teach me more 
Than this apt heart within me, so refrain ! 
Love that is imaged by the ivy clothing 
The furrowed elm with garlands never sere ; 
Love, jealous heart to jealous heart betrothing, 
With sacrament where faith hath conquered fear ; 
Love, taught by Reason, (gentle Nature guiding 
Her bright-eyed servant with a pure intent ;) 
Love, o'er whose rites serenest Peace presiding, 
May watch the revel with a brow unbent, 
Such love have I and mine : what boots to tell 
That Ancient Lovers did not love so well ? 



OCCASIONAL SONNETS. XIX. 209 



XIX. 

'* A Garland fashioned of the pure white rose ! " 
The words come to me at short intervals, (13) 
As through fresh leaves some fitful wind that calls 
To one whose cheek with thoughtful sunset glows. 
Silently down, the terraced hill there goes 
A weeping maiden train ; a snowy pall's 
White drapery on the still air swells and falls ; 
A white-rose wreath in holiest repose 
Lies on the bier, the emblem of the dead ; 
Now see another gayer train that flows 
Into the church, — a maiden young and fair 
With ringlets gathered to a braid is there, 
A braid that doth support upon her head 
A garland, likewise, of the pure white rose ! 



210 SHORTER POEMS. 



XX. BOYHOODS BLISS. 

Love, and the queen of love, the Cythersean ! 

Lo ! here are words to lap the riper sense 

In boyhood's blind sweet inexperience, 

To win the man of twenty-one to be an 

Imp of fifteen again, with hasty paean 

Saluting Pleasure as his conquest fit. 

And Beauty, in whatever shape of it. 

Loving with ardour Sapphic or Circean. 

Woman, with languid eye luxuriously 

Developed through the half-uplifted lid ; 

In summer leaves, thou amorous night-bird, hid, 

I do believe ye know not how to die 

So fervently on sight, or sound, or sigh. 

Or aught delicious, as my boyhood did ! 



OCCASIONAL SONNETS. XXI. 211 



XXI. VENUS EMERGENS. 

Fair Venus sate upon her pearly shell ; 
And tho' the green wave amorously all round 
Lipped the encrimsoned edges, yet the spell 
Failed not by which the encroaching tide was bound. 
There the young Goddess in the hollow sate, 
Clasping one rosy ancle with her hand, 
While her large eyes in wondering unrest 
Ran o'er the azure arches of the sky. 
In silence she upgazed, till two grey doves, 
Flew down and nestled in her snowy breast ; 
Then shrieked aloud in sudden joy. Whereat, 
From the dark covert of the green sea-groves, 
Nereids trooped up, and Tritons carefully 
Drew the fair bark, and fairer freight to land. 



212 SHORTER POEMS. 



XXII. CONTINUED. 

A SMOOTH-LIPPED Shepherd, dreamingofsweeteyes, 

Among the Paphian thickets, saw afar, 

The flashing- of white arms and golden scales : 

His dazzled eye then shading with his hand, 

He watched the landward -floating companies. 

Till, the crowd parting at the very shore, 

Alone he saw the pearly shell draw near, 

And she who shone upon it (like a star 

Upon a moonlit cloudlet) step on land. 

Then starting from his trance, he gazed no more, 

But straightway thro' the matted myrtles broke, 

And sped across the silken-swarded vales 

Into the city, where he panting spoke 

The wondrous story in the general ear. 



OCCASIOVAL SOXNETS. XXIII. 213 



XXIII. 

J T is not happiness that moves the Muse ; 

And I thus long* am silent : when the day 

Goes heavily and then art far away, 

Then my love's motion, answering to its dues, 

No more, methinks, its tribute will refuse ; 

And I in grateful verse may half express 

The power and passion- of my tenderness, 

And what I have enjoyed, and what I lose. 

Be not impatient, therefore, nor misdoubt 

My heart because 'tis silent ; there ascends 

At morn and even to the Throne above 

A smoke of thankfulness for thy dear love, 

Kindled of such pure bliss, as, measured out 

For all such lack, makes more than best amends ! 



214 SHORTER POEMS. 



XXIV. 

'Tis almost bitter to behold thee so, 
Home of my Childhood ! though we disunite 
So gently, and no strange and sudden spite 
Part our close loves with one vindictive blow. 
'Tis lessening of our sorrow to foreknow ; 
Yet the distrustful heart in parting fears 
Lest the rank weeds, foul crop of later years, 
Thy young-green recollections overgrow. 
'Twere never thus while yet we might behold 
The garden from whose turf we plucked our flowers, 
The nursery and the toys which once were ours. 
Ah well ! we must be used, as we grow old. 
To see our by-gone household seats grown cold, 
And blossoms dearer yet perished from our sweet 
bowers. 



OCCASIONAL SONNETS. XXV. 215 



XXV. ON A VIOLET 

FLOATING IN A GLASS OF WATER. 

Blest be this lakelet and its tiny Isle ! 

A land coerulean, by a crystal tide 

Of fairest water clipped on every side ; 

Both purest, — whose mixed fragrance doth beguile 

The hot and weary spirit, like the smile 

Of childhood, velvet-cheeked and easy-eyed, 

Whose heart supports sweet Love, upon a tide 

As pure as this, as fair and sweet an isle : 

O that the odour fused and blended so 

Of this fresh water, and this sweetest flower 

That coins heaven's air to beauty in the mint 

Of its own Spirit, gay and innocent, 

Might never be forgotten ! thence would flov/ 

Profit and joy for many a silent hour. 



216 SHORTER POEMS. 




XXVI. 

Let Fancy make her journey as she wills ; 
Yea, if she will, spread out umbrageous wings 
Beneath the sun, until all earthly things, — 
Green grass, and spiry hedgerows and quick rills, — 
Are smit with sadness, and a blank damp fills 
The hollow of the blue and breathing sky. 
In mood as wild the other morning I 
Traversedwith comrades twain the Charnwood Hills. 
One with transparent eyes and beaming face 
Looked into mine a balmy look of bliss 
That made me hope : — the other held away 
His hoary beard as angered mortals may ; 
Who were they did me such offence and grace ? 
The Angel MichaelThat, the Patriarch Joseph This. 



« 



OCCASIONAL SO^TNETS. XXVIl. .217 



XXVII. 

" The heart is full of flowers, who says therein 
Are hidden snakes that heave the treacherous crest, 
And vermin whose corruption scales the best 
With ministry less noted ?" Thus we win 
Faint courage to behold the soul within, 
From question asked by Wonder of Self-love ; 
Thus boldly doth a tiptoe Fear reprove 
The mention of the inhabitative sin. 
Come, Love and Wonder, work your work ! unbar 
The gates, proud warder ! Wonder, gaze thy fill, 
And grow by gazing ! come, thou pallid Fear, 
And wrapt in Truth's serener atmosphere, 
Stand in thine own dimensions ; like a star 
In mist, thou now art large or less at will. 



•218 SHORTER POEMS. 



xxviir. 

WRITTEN ON THE 20th JUNE, 1837 ; THE DAY ON 
WHICH KING WILLIAM IV. DIED. 

The meanest word uttered on such a day 
Will have and keep its value. William dies 
To-day : no magic in the sentence lies ; 
Yet will it have an everlasting sway, 
Which all the rebel Years must yet obey ; 
Which all the irrespective Centuries, 
That hurry on the good, and great, and wise, 
Cannot annihilate and do away : 
For Time, a tender Father, marks his Hours 
As fondly as a maiden her few flowers, 
And doth to every little one allow 
This privilege ; to die but not decay, 
Being embalmed in every casual Now ; 
And this not he, their Parent, can gainsay. 



OCCASIONAL SONNETS. XXIX. 219 



XXIX. CONTINUED. 

There may be other lessons, and there aie ; 
And others to deliver them : for me 
Be it enough to cull for Memory 
The garland she will not disdain to wear : 
Let these dim hawthorn hedges, sallow-fair. 
Fling down the years their present sleepy scent ; 
Let the rich clouds that hang this firmament 
Grow not by time more light, nor heavier ; 
The hot moist clover with as sweet a breath 
(Almost too sweet) creep up ; the lagging bells, 
With their wild fallings and their passionate swells, 
Struggle athwart the lazy atmosphere 
As now ; if at another royal death 
Again I walk with Avon rippling near. 



220 SHORTER POEMS. 



XXX. 

Brave Boy, when thy young heart is fully grown, 

And courage, firmness, love, are budded out 

Into their summer richness, thou wilt own 

An heirdom such as few of us have known ; 

In our unsteady selves so tossed about, 

That we may hardly chide the stormy world 

For its unkindly harbourage ; but thou 

Wilt not be thus, when that which in thee now 

Lies hid, like beauty in the unquickened rose, 

Into its later glory is unfurled : 

Its opening I may see ; but ere its close 

Leave my old age delightless unto me, 

May some sharp wind uproot the tottering tree. 

And let me sleep where none his sorrow knows. 



OCCASIONAL SONNETS. XXXI. 221 



XXXI. 

O YES, one object may be centred purely 

In the young* spirit's most luxurious stir ; 

She shall be honoured, loved, and served more surely 

For the rude riot that surroundeth her ! 

The Day behind the clouds lies blue and calm. 

And slyly laughing- as she sits alone, 

Counts light indeed earth's few faint airs of balm. 

Heaven's golden sunshine being all her own ; 

The maiden stars preserve their peaceful way. 

Albeit the winds with blast, and cry, and clangour. 

Tease their fair orbs ; half in too rough a play, 

And half in sallies of a frolic anger ; 

The silver moon unfretted doth pursue 

Her fancies, if the sky be black or blue. 



222 SHORTER POEMS. 



XXXII. 

Thy walls, old Home, are bare ; but marks remain 
Where hung the painter's glories. There, for years 
Jephtha's meek Daughter, steeped in silent tears, 
Knelt midst the gloomy torches ; there again 
Venetia's palace, and her spousal main 
In sunset's brazen splendour gleamed serene ; 
There misty morning on a pastoral scene 
Asked homage to the genius of Lorraine. 
Here Tivoli far off hung dim, while nearer 
Upon a meadow plot three naked Boys 
Danced gleesomely, none fairer and none dearer 
Unto the Mother, who looked on in love ; 
There Rome's proud temple in translucent skies 
Sheathed its tall spires; the moon hung high above 



11 



OCCASIONAL SONNETS. XXXIII. 223 



XXXIII. 

Lady, if birds to two dudded lands 
Be native, as the sun shines there or here, 
So, as thy home, a loving atmosphere, 
Ranges, mayst thou too range, and yet the bands 
Of home be round thee, like a mother's hands 
Twined round her child, a gleeful prisoner ; 
Thus now are England's homelier shores as dear 
To thee as once were Taio's golden sands ; 
And thou dost not despise for fiery passion, 
The hurried harvest of a glowing clime, 
Old England's homage of a calmer fashion : 
Remembering well that flowers which slowest form, 
And are of quieter dye, although as warm. 
Lose less their tints, and bloom a longer time. 



224 SHORTER POEMS. 



XX XIV TO THE POET WORDSWORTH. (14) 

I HAVE beheld thee, loved and honoured Name, 

A name no longer, but a shape of life 

With human thoughts, loves, hopes, and interests 

rife, 
No white Ideal crowned with burning* fame. 
But one in whom our nature's lowest claim 
Fights with her highest in serenest strife ; 
A daughter's sire, the husband of a wife ; 
Thro' all thy fancy's moods a man the same : 
A man with hoary hair, a good old man, 
In calmness, glory, majesty, and purity, 
Most like a rounded silver moon serene, 
Whose age is not a ghostly pale Has-been, 
But the compactest image of maturity, 
The perfect apex of Heaven's perfect plan. 



OCCASIONAL SONNETS. XXXV. 225 



XXXV. TO THE SAME. 

I Wordsworth ! great spirit ! loveliest of our Time, 
And of all England's Bards, save One, the greatest, 
Well with thine outward manliness thou matest 
The figure of thy soul, serene, sublime : 

I And, hearing thee, I felt as in that clime 
Where Gods with mortals mingled; — Bacchus wise, 
Minerva with grave port and stately eyes, 

I Blithe Venus, daughter of sweet Fancy's prime. 
But power more gracious dwelt with thee than 

theirs. 
And influence to a human heart more dear, 
Since thou didst shew us what pure glory can 
Be won, if worked for, by a mortal man. 
Whose hopes and cares are human hopes and cares, 
Whose loves and griefs are earth's, whose dwelling 
here. 



226 SHORTER POEMS. 



XXXVI. 
THE PORTRAIT OF THE SAME POET; 

IN THE COMBINATION-ROOM OF ST. JOHN's COLLEGE, 
CAMBRIDGE. 

Where mountain turf, the purest and the greenest, 

Lays to the barren rocks a tender breast, 

The painter's art hath set thee, last and best 

Of England's quire of bards, that, not the meanest. 

Rightly on earth, divine old man, thou leanest, 

Still less divine than earthly, and more blest 

In that admixture of earth's loftiest 

Affections with the upper sky's serenest, 

Than if far off on cloudy wings upborne 

Among the splendid stars thy lonely way, 

Hidden or seen, at noon, and eve, and morn 

Were meted out, a kingly path forlorn ; H I 

And how much dearer in thy humble sway 

To us who feel, and love, and laugh, and mourn! 



OCCASIONAL SONNETS. XXXVII. 227 



XXXVII. TO AMY ROBSART, 

AS DEPICTED BY SIR W. SCOTT IN HIS NOVEL OF 
'^KENILWORTH." 

Sweet flower, that from a pleasant rustic shade, 
And careful tendance of familiar eyes, 
Wert too soon plucked to be the guarded prize 
Of one whose love a loftier plant betrayed — 
Loftier, not lovelier ; — ill-fated maid, 
Whose story in the hearer's bosom lies, 
A well of tears, which every day supplies 
With new remembrance day by day displayed, 
If Fame were aught, and sad commemoration 
More than a tearful light upon the air, 
Thou wert repaid by that sublime oblation, 
Unto thine honour, lady good and fair, 
Offered by genius singly, while mankind 
Watching the sacrifice, approved behind. 



228 SHORTER POEMS. 



XXX VIII. 

Six moons ago why did 1 so rejoice, 

That one less bond now tied me down to earth,' 

If thou so busy be, in grief and mirth, 

With a new cord thrice -stranded, knotted thrice, 

To hold me still an exile from the skies ? 

Is it not so ? — or is the love of thee 

A ladder to lead thither ? — let it be ! 

A rainbow path of milky lig-ht it lies 

On my heart's eye ; and heavenly messengers. 

New energy the whole dull breast that stirs, 

Good thoughts, deep love, and thankfulness extreme. 

Tread the ascending arch : on the other side 

Comes down delicious Happiness tender-eyed, 

Calm as a picture, calm remembered in a dream. 



OCCASIONAL SONNETS. XXXIX. 229 



XXXIX. 

The wild- winged Birds when one the other calleth 
Have answer forth from farthest thickets sent, 
Though yet no nearer kindred them befalleth 
Than heirship of a common element ; 
The very Storms that are at war and hate 
Punctually respond across the listening hollow, 
And echo, who with none is friend or mate, 
Sends yet her voice the meanest herd to follow ; 
O then since all things, bound in simple kindred, 
In hate opposed, or in un-knowledge free, 
Yield yet the signal sought, O why is hindered 
The mutual service of my love and me ? 
Speed, Post! blow, Wind ! then distance in disgrace 
Will yield his prey again to my embrace. 



230 SHORTER POEMS. 



XL. 



Thou sad, and I so joyful, gentle friend ! 
Yet loosed no link of that which once did tie 
Our spirits to one sorrow or one joy ; 
There must be wrong betwixt us, though unkenned ; 
There must be what we should avoid or mend : 
Most on my side, I fear me, whose glad face 
Before those tremulous eyelids, and the trace 
Of scarce-dropped tears seems almost to offend. 
Yet if it were but that a needless fear, 
A shadowy trouble, on thy clearer breast 
Is flung too strongly, then my sun of joy 
Might scare away that phantom of annoy : 
Surely it must be so, dear friend, for here 
Conscience is ware of no unseemly guest. 



I 



OCCASIONAL SONNETS. XLI. 231 



XLI. 

How would you start if from the breezy sky 

Unclouded — not a speck upon the blue — 

A voice should fall ; how if the senseless hue 

Of some spring rose should quicken to an eye ; 

How if a flying bird or tongueless fly 

Among green boughs with language should pursue 

Your summer walk ; such things have happed to few , 

And few such marvellous warning could abye. 

Therefore has God who tempers to the weak 

Their lesson, mercifully flung to me 

My warning in an echo from a Hall, 

Builded surpassingly yet near to fall ; 

The ruin of a palaced Soul, by freak 

Of devils inhabiting riven fearfully. 



232 SHORTER POEMS. 



XLII. 

I TOO possess a home, an isle of peace 
Upon a sea of waving corn, a green 
Fair plot of quiet garden-ground serene. 
Here, summer Twilight's sweet solemnities 
Are kept all day by sun-excluding trees : 
There, lingering walks and velvet turf between, 
Bright flowers hold sunshine all the year I ween, 
A happy haunt for Chamwood's neighbouring 

breeze ; 
But dearer, that in the midst of this fair space 
There stands a house where now, (and all life long 
I trust) for me by toil or care opprest, 
Is nursed the twilight of a kindly rest, 
In loving arms imbowered ; and love's bright face 
For sunshine, when made chill by pain or wrong. 




OCCASIONAL SONNETS. XLHI. 233 



XLIII. 

Stay, cold moon, stay and hear ! for I would tell 
To one that hath no tongue to tell again 
The mystery within me, thoughts that dwell, 
Like haunting ghosts, within the ruined fane 
Of my lorn heart and half-disordered brain ! 
And yet I scruple, in a jealous fear. 
Lest other eyes be sharp as mine to trace 
Ev'n in thy silent and unfeatured face 
The secrets told thee when no soul is near. 
Ah, faithless Keeper of a sacred trust. 
Thus ev'n thy sympathy were bought too dear. 
Sleep, sleep again, in my close heart confined 
Dark Secret, sleep ! — and let the thriftless wind 
Scatter thee with the rest when I am dust. 



234 SHORTER POEMS. 



XLIV. MADINGLEY CHURCHYARD. 

Three sides a grove of yews, a gloomy grove, 
Hung with their viscid fruit; the fourth the church, 
A fane with yellow walls and scribbled porch, 
Where rests the mouldering bier : around, above 
The sky, and a still air of peace and love, 
Informing the green turf with gentler green 
Than lies without ; and shadow not unseen. 
And coo clear-heard of meditative dove ; 
'Tis death's serenest garden : — would that here 
Many were laid, the blessings of whose graves 
Is lost to me — thou chiefly. Mother blest, 
Mother, own mother! whose unbroken rest 
Is taken where the city's noisy waves 
Roll loudly, and the busy tongue chafes near. 



I 



OCCASIONAL SONNETS. XLV. 235 



XLV. 

Am I or am I not what I would be ? 
Have I within me of that golden ore 
Which poets, using from the time of yore, 
Have yet left some unspent. Alas for me, 
Bemazed in so great perplexity ! 
Alas for one that longs but cannot crop, 
Standing among green trees with fruit o'er- 

weighted ; 
Alas for one athirst, whose heat no drop 
Of the encircling waters may assuage ; 
A young heart crusted with the shell of age ; 
Enjoyment lost, yet longing unabated, 
A soul that fain would speak, yet hath no tongue. 
Like any desolate thing, a hai*p unstrung, 
A tree that bears no fruit, a dove unmated ! 



236 SHORTER POEMS. 



XL VI. 

O ! 'tis like evening's soft and sad recalling 

Of morning's freshness thus to think of thee ; 

And nourishing dews upon my heart are falling, 

That have been late so scant and were so free : 

Then too they rested longer, for the tree 

Of my green love o'ershadowed them. No more, 

No more that lusty desert-plant runs o'er 

With the deep verdure of its greenery : 

Buds thereupon were shaped, and leaves were 

whitening 
Into a sheet of virgin flower — 'tis o'er ! 
Gathered the sudden cloud, and fell the lightning, 
And the scathed trunk that is a tree no more 
Now strikes unseen a deep and deepening root, 
And yet may never bear blossom or fruit, 
Nor hold its head aloft, and spread, and soar ! 



OCCASIO"NAL SONNETS. XLVII. 237 



XLVII. 

Sweet Lady, thou hast changed thy smiles to 

frowning, 
Yet canst thou never change my love to hate, 
But it must still, like living ivy crowning 
A broken pillar, round the desolate 
Remembrance of thy by-gone years of smiling. 
Bloom with a fond affection self-sustained ; 
With cheerful light the interval beguiling 
Till thine old love be once again regained. 
Or, the grey memory being wholly perished, 
By which the creeper's scanty life was fed, 
The shrunken withes round that they vainly 

cherished 
Upon the dust in mournful faith be spread ; 
Like those true shrivelled flowers by sextons found 
In the dry coffins of a chalky ground. 



SHORTER POEMS. 



XLvm. 

I KNOW my love is set about my brow, 
A band of living light ; a glorious crown, 
More bright than diamonded cirques that throw 
Their mocking brilliance round the fretted brow 
Of monarchs with their jewelled pride weighed down. 
I feel it there though eye of man see nought 
Save the soft lustre of a settled peace, 
And smiles from every motion of my thought 
Breaking, like twinkles on the lulled mid-seas. 
As soft, as sweet, and with as sure succession ! 
And thus in hope's strong armour cased I seize 
An easy conqueror, on the rosy hours. 
And, looking ever down my path of flowers, 
Pace gently towards my bower of rest — possession. 



OCCASIONAL SONNETS. XLIX. 239 



XLIX. ON RECEIVING GOOD NEWS 

OF A FRIEND IN INDIA. 

Glad tidings of the plant so fair, so dear ! 
The sweet transplanted Tree whose leaves grew faint, 
And pale, and sick, as with a mortal taint, 
In the first breath of that strange atmosphere. 
No matter, 'tis revived, and with a clear 
Green flush, as 'twere of spring, is dyed anew. 
Now blessing be on every wind that blew 
Upon the bearer of this welcome cheer ; 
Methinks I see the gallant Ship draw near : 
Dancing with joy, upon her path slie comes, 
I And sensible pleasure seems to steep her sails, 

And creep among her shrouds, like some soft gale's 
, Mild stir, as though the inanimate Frame could hear 
I The welcome flung her from a hundred homes ! 



240 SHORTER POEMS. 



L. 



Lady, there are sweet plants of loveliest leaves, 

On which, the garden's boast, still softly settles 

Amid their luxury of doubling petals 

And colours as the colours of spring eves. 

An odour of the fields, a free wild scent ; 

So with thy tutored elegance is blent, 

Sweet lady, a home-grace that wins us more 

Than tresses gathered up and rolling o'er, 

Or hand's pure shape, or eye's dark languishment. 

So in thy boudoir's artful shade it were. 

As we beheld thee in the open air, 

Beneath a roof of flowery branches bent ; 

Or at a well, or by a cottage wall. 

Or any how most pure and natural. 



OCCASIONAL SONNETS. LI. 241 



LI. 

There are some trees (who knows not such a tree ?) 
Which standing in a garden full and fair 
Make themselves lonely, so supreme they are ; 
So gorgeous in their dyes, their scent so free ; 
So strong yet delicate in their tracery, 
And so surpassing rich the fruits they bear. 
O friend ! if I such lofty name may share, 
Such among other men thou seem'st to be. 
The humblest nestler in the breast of heaven, 
The freest dallier with the earth-born breeze, 
Bearing the soul's best fruit, the mind's best flowers 
To Him who planted thee ; so in all hours 
And places, highest place to thee is given 
Unconsciously. May such pure fame increase ! 



242 SHORTER POEMS. 



LII. 

The most distasteful glooms that ever leant 
Upon the face of dimpling pool, or brook 
Whose natural aspect is a joyous look. 
As childhood's merriest, free from discontent, 
And ease best imaged by a bow unbent. 
Were less to blame for marring earth's delight 
Than this untimely cloud, whose sullen spite 
Dashes thy soft eye's wonted merriment. 
Yet if it come lest boyhood's sun should fling 
Upon the tender spring serene and pure 
Of home affections ever insecure. 
An eye in too unguarded fire arrayed. 
Then is it welcome as the tree whose shade 
Holds cool and constant w-aters in the spring. 



OCCASIONAL SONNETS. LIII. 243 



LIII. 

My friend, a space, one short year's space ago, 

We two together paced the green arcades 

Of Trinity, fair mother, while the shades 

Gathered among the boughs, and to and fro 

Athwart them, as we walked, the rosy glow 

Of eve's sweet star pursued a courteous race, 

Quicker or slower as the wilful pace 

Of our mute idleness was quick or slow. 

Now think how much a single busy year 

Hath laid on our young shoulders ! — upon thine 

The weight of a dear wife, and Christ's dear cross, 

And many souls for final gain or loss ; 

— A burden not so heavy, although near, 

Two bright boys' care, and Happiness, on mine. 



244 SHORTER POEMS. 



LIV. 

Benignant lady, if that one so young 
May bless thee for the beauty of thy brow, 
And not presume, I, lady, bless thee now ; 
They fabled that the wild bees came and hung 
On Plato's lip ; — if any fanciful tongue 
Should say that creatures which no mortals know, 
Creatures all white with wings as soft as snow. 
Came down from heaven and on thy forehead clung 
I could believe it, of such heavenly mould 
Is the calm there, and such a kindly calm 
Mantles thy quiet eyes, quiet not cold ; 
And such a meditative grace dwells ever 
On thee, as on a plant by some still river 
Kissed but not ruffled by sweet airs of balm. 



OCCASIONAL SONNETS. LV. 245 



LV. WRITTEN AFTER READING A BOOK OF 
EASTERN TRAVELS. 

To us encaged in home and loving faces, 
How pleasant to believe we bend our way, 
Lone travellers at morn and eve of day, 
Where the sweet desert shews his vernal graces, 
Or where the Euphrates' palm-lined wave embraces 
Babel's heaped ruins, faithful in decay ; 
Or in the Holy Land's most holy places 
Earn the light scallop-shell, as I to day. 
Thanks to thee. Traveller, brave and joyous-hearted! 
Thanks to the constant soul that held its own 
Among those mournful regions ! — But for me, 
A sudden chill of heart creeps through my glee, 
Though but to hear of these bright lights departed, 
Those glories of my childhood overthrown. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 

PART THE THIRD. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



PART THE THIRD. 



I. THE GIPSY BEGGAR. 

They gave him nought ; he turned away 
With such a sufferance as is bred 

From careless usage day by day ; 

'Twas wisdom in an humble way 
Both of the heart and head. 

I followed on that lordly train ; 

Their laugh yet rang upon the ear 
Just round an elbow of the lane ; 
And me the gipsy asked again 

For alms, when I drew near. 

For alms — he had no home, he said, 

And (changed the beggar's tale before) 
No wife nor children ; all were dead, 
He was alone on earth, he said, 
And stricken with a sore. 



250 SHORTER POEMS. 

Twas cunningly devised to move 

My heart, however he might guess ; 
And more his seeming want of love 
The tender depths of pity clove, 
Than deeper shared distress. 

His was an ancient Roman's face, 
So statue-like in shape, and yet 
So viperous in eye, the grace 
Of that calm outline keen gave place 
To its continual fret. 

It glanced ten times while yet he spoke. 

Ten separate darts it made or more. 
On me — upon his tattered cloak — 
Upon an imp, that wildly broke 
From out a hovel door. 

I looked upon the boy and him, 

'Twas clear to me they were akin ; 
Only the younger was less grim 
To see, his cheek more dewy-dim. 
And of a finer skin. 

But in the lips and lofty brows 

'Twas evident that they were one, 
And in the eye, its sudden close 
And quick expansion ; now who knows 
But they are sire and son ? 



MISCELLANEOUS. I. 251 

So thought I to myself, and fast 

My charity was running down ; 
But yet when one quick glance was past, 
No look upon the child he cast, 

No smile ; nor yet a frown. 

So I gave credence, as seemed meet, 

To that sad tale of loveless woe, 
For coldest heart that ever beat 
Was never schooled to such deceit 

As this, said I, I know. 

The imp went dancing down the lane, 
And never saw us standing there, 

When suddenly he fell ; amain 

A horrid cry — a cry of pain, 
Rang shrilly on the air ! 

'Twas nature's dart, aimed at the heart. 
Which had forsworn her gentle sway : 

It pierced— away the father ran ; 

Three leaps had borne the hasty man 
To where the urchin lay. 

He took him up, he laid his cheek 

To his ; the lovely boy's was pale : 
He kissed him as a mother meek 
Kisses her child, but doth not speak 
For fear his slumbers fail. 



252 SHORTER POEMS. 

Moist dew was in his viperous eyes 
Tiiat were so horny bright before : 

To soothe the boy with play he tries ; 

He mimics playfully his cries, 
Until the child forbore. 

Then up to me — he saw me smile — 

He led the boy so fair and young" ; 
*' Five more I have, sir," — I, meanwhile, 
For the heart's faith, forgave the guile. 
That was but of the tongue. 



II. INSCRIPTION FOR AN ARBOUR. 

Sing songs and be right merry in this bower ! 
So wills the genius of the place, and hour, 
Be it mid-day, or eve, or noon, or night, 
For hearty Nature wars not with delight. 
So be thou merry with thy love or friend, 
If but thy soul be clean thou'lt not offend. 



MISCELLANEOUS. III. 253 



in. 

'Tis six o'clock — the sun is low, 
The kindled grass is all a-glow, 

A living" emerald sea ; 
The fields are dewy; tempt them not 
My tender friend ! my garden plot 

Is dry, come walk with me ! 

I'll shew you where my darlings grow, 
My pets, a dear memorial shew 

Of friends far off or near, 
Whose thoughts with love's economy, 
Keep yet one little space for me. 

Whether ahroad or here. 

Mark yon lithe creeper ! linked, and light, 
Up Cintra's garden walls so white, 

'Twas used of old to climb. 
Or fling an odour scarce of earth. 
Where Lisbon's dames, with love and mirth, 

Beguile the summer time. 

This was a neighbour then thereto, 
Where Taio's waves were fair to view, 
And lemon groves to smell ; 



254 SHORTER POEMS. 

And large dark eyes its beauty quaffed, 
And sweet lips sang, and light hearts laughed 
O'er its long buds as well. 

Now mark yon group of marigold, 
A thousand bunchy buds unrolled ! 

A thousand orbs of fire ! 
Bright as the girdle of the skies, 
And many in their changeful dyes 

As Heaven's own various quire ! 

They and that larkspur fair and light, 
Yoi;i hollyhock as grand as Night, 

Yon agile climbing pea. 
Beside the ruined convent- wall 
Once saw their faces, one and all. 

Deep in the Laacher See. 

Now see this flower, so proud and tall ; 
I name the flower, my cardinal, 

Because its ancient home 
Was where upon his measured walks 
The red-robed priest might brush its stalks, — 

The Vatican at Rome. 

Now see another favoured guest ; 
Yon balsam, with the palmy crest, 

A pyramid of bells. 
As scarlet as a baby's lips 
Asleep : — where white Byzantium clips 

The azure wave, it dwells. 



MISCELL.1NE0US. III. 255 

And yet another pair I call, 
The last, the dearest of them all, 

Though worthless to the florist, 
This foxglove from a lofty hill, 
This mouse-ear, from a mossy rill, 

In thee, dear Charnwood Forest ! 



256 SHORTER POEMS. 



IV. 



Listen to my sweet dream. I was at play 
With little boys; — a bearded man am I, 
Though young. — Among us all, I dare to say, 
None had less thought how every one must die 
And, like a breath of wind, be gone away. 



I 



So we went on ; — they running, and I chasing ; 

A thousand tricks we played ; devices sly : 

Dart, subtle fall, and twist, and downright racing, 

I to arrest them, they to get away ; 

And among all my peers, I dare to say, 

Was none who had less thought of death than I 



ii 






It was no wonder, near such glancing eyes, 
Dewy with laughter, and such silken cheeks, 
And limbs so springy, and a heart that flies 
So lightly in the train of all wild freaks. 
That I, though ten years older, should not see 
For one short hour, the soundless Shade that plies 
Its steps, beside our own continually. 

And I did not, and with these children played 
As many a sensible person would have said, 



MISCELLANEOUS. IV. 257 

Much like a madman, but I loved my place 

Among- the pure sweet souls so young and joyous, 

And I believe by such another race, 

We might outrun most grief, that doth annoy us. 

No matter, I ran on ; with sudden grips 

Now one of them I caught, and now another ; 

And made them kiss me with their rosy lips. 

For all well loved me, — one, as doth no other, 

My own God's-gift : — but see that youngster trips. 

The slender graceful boy, in mourning dress ; 

I have him by the waist, but still he slips 

His face away, and will not my caress. 

At last I win him, by my loving stress, 

O my lost friend ! it is thy younger brother ! 

O my lost friend, that wert so bright and brave. 
So gentle and so loving ; whose new bloom 
Was so soon quenched by the engulphing grave, — 
O think not I forget thee in thy tomb ! 
Day brings no surer day-light, night no gloom 
More certain, than they both unto my bosom, 
Bring back my friend, the plant of love, whose 

blossom 
Was so soon trampled by a greedy doom. 
Thou knowest, love, to whom the starry light 
Is as our day, — to whom our waxing moon 
Stands hornless ever, and the sun at noon 
Begets no terror in his central height 
Of that dull eve which dogs him in our sight ; 
Thou, to whom all things fair are fair for ever, 
s 



258 SHORTER POEMS. 

And have no change of beauty, but are bright 
Steadfast with no reflux and no endeavour ; 
Thou knowest that as these stand still to thee 
In fulness, so stands still my love to me 
With one clear presence, rounding day and night. 



MISCELLANEOUS. V. 259 



V. COLIN CLOUT IN WARWICKSHIRE 

I LOVE my humble happiness ; 

No sweeter scent doth follow 
The lily on the height, I g*uess, 

Than the lily in the hollow ; 
I love the quiet-flowing eves, 

The sober glow of morning, 
The calm to every hour that cleaves, 

Securing and adorning. 

The silent fields that lie so still, 

And nourish their sweet grasses ; 
The wind that pass when pass it will, 

You scarce can tell it passes : 
The flowers that have no care beyond 

Their own serene decorum ; 
The brooks, of hanging banks so fond. 

And hawthorn boughs bent o'er 'em ; 

The violets' haunts where modest buds 
Among brown oak-leaves tremble ; 

The grassy places in the woods 
Where the primroses assemble ; 

The hedgerow where the cowslip makes 
Its music ; and the meadow 



260 SHORTER POEMS. 

Where the ladysmock, small banneret, shakes 
Its shreds of lilac shadow ; 

The river sides with waters cool 

By day and night acquainted ; 
The wild rose cup so beautiful 

So delicately scented ; 
The woodbine, trump of morn and night, 

The Mayblob's golden tabour ; 
The speedwell with its moral bright 

Of the cheeriness of labour ; 

All these, my humble stock of joys, 

I love, and am contented : 
The heart must be so that employs 

But half the blessings lent it ; 
And if to each adds Thought the witch 

Some bygone scene to feed on, 
In Warwickshire am I as rich 

As Adam was in Eden. 



MISCELLANEOUS. VI. 261 



VI. 

Like young Vertumnushe stands there, 
The primrose crown is in his hair ; 
The pure spring blush upon his face , 
In every limb a primal grace ; 
And gentle boyish feelings teach 
His dimpling lips a vernal speech. 
— What had the power of old that he, 
My Love, hath not more plenteously ? 

All gentle feelings try their art, 
And coax his dimpling lips apart ; 
What saith he ? loving words, be sure. 
The coinage of a heart as pure 
As ever looked through boyish eyes 
ErePassion's mists began to rise. 
— This is what lacked that Godhead blest 
And my Love hath so manifest. 



262 SHORTER POEMS. 



VII. GRACE CAREWE. 

The passing bell is scarcely down ; 

And though the hand is cold, 
About the heart no more at strife, 
Some remnants of the warmth of life 

Their conquered fortress hold. 

Oh ! woeworn heart ! 'tis rest to thee, 

If death be rest to any ; 
So wearisome hath been thy way. 
So bright a sunset crowned thy day, 

Thy griefs, thy hopes so many ! 

It might seem scarcely time to tell, 

Beside thy yet warm ashes, 
How red and ripe those lips have been, 
How bright the eye that glanced between 

Those long, soft, silken lashes ; 

And more unfitting still to read 
The tale of crime and sorrow, 
Beside the bed whereon she lay, 
And changed our weeping for to-day. 
To hoping for to-morrow. 



MISCELLANEOUS. VII. 263 

And so it were if wisdom's steps 

For loitering search would tarry ; 
But human hours will wait for none, 
And we must gather as we run 

The wealth which we would carry. 

" O pride of beauty too secure ! 

O light of love misleading ! 
O careless heart in caution's spite 
To passion's idle words, the right 

Of wedded vows conceding!" 

O'er many a fall those words I've said 

In tears I could not master, 
But never with a soul so stirred 
As when the startling tale I heard 

Of Grace Carewe's disaster ! 

Most deeply was I grieved thereat, 

For I had always thought her 
In mind as lovely as in face ; 
In truth I deemed her knightly race 

Had never prouder daughter. 

Well, well, — 'twas otherwise : — her shame 

In common mouths was spoken. 
Yet ever as around it went 
With pity and with wonderment, 

And oft with tears 'twas broken. 



264 SHORTER rOEMS. 

And now a year had worn away 

Our anger at her failing : 
The troubled water had run clear ; 
And never met her name our ear 

But answered with bewailing. 

Her lovely face, her open hand, 

The charm that lay upon her 
Ere yet she left her maiden ways, 
Her own respect and our fond praise 

To tarry with dishonour ; 

All came back sweeter to our thoughts : 

As light a moment shaded 
Shews yet more brilliant when unmasked ; 
So we remembered her, nor asked 

How such resplendence faded. 

Thus was it, when, one sabbath day, 

When summer's heat lay heavy 
On man, and beast, and cornfields white 
That glimmered with a restless light, 
And dark still woodlands leavy, 

The sexton of our village church 
Unlocked the doors at dawning, 

To let the breezes fill the place 

With pleasant scents and (16) airs of grace, 
Kissed from the lips of morning. 



MISCELLANEOUS. VII. 265 

It is an old and seemly fane, 

Yet more from time's soft gracing-, 
Than pillars ranked in stately files, 
And shadowy length of lofty aisles, 
And arches interlacing". 

And its chief charm is in the thought 

Of prayers there offered weekly, 
And penitent sobs in its low pews, 
And foreheads damp with clammy dews 

Of them who mourn less meekly. 

Yet there were many quaint old tombs 

To brave Carewes erected ; 
And later carvings less uncouth, 
Whose marble yet was fair and smooth, 

In many a group collected. 

The fairest of that seemly crowd, 

To Grace's mother given, 
Bore carven on a sable base 
A snowy dove, whose native place 

Was in the heights of heaven. 

There round the pillar that upheld 

That tribute to the sainted. 
Lay Grace, her child, — with sin no more 
But grief and sorrows running o'er. 

Sin's wages, well acquainted. 



266 SHORTER POEMS. 

The father saw her as the latch 

Of his tall pew he lifted ; 
A proud old man, yet not the less 
With human wish to love and bless, 

And human pity gifted. 

The poor old man — I see him yet, 

The burden in his bosom ; 
I half believe the faded flower 
Was dearer than the brightest hour 

Of the untainted blossom : 

They brought her home — they laid her here, 

That body weak and wasting. 
Yet that, — God wounds and God makes whole- 
That took an everlasting soul 

To glory everlasting ! 



MISCELLANEOUS. VIII. 267 



VIII. 

Believe not 'tis an influence lost 
If yet to me no power be given, 
To tell of that blessed sight that crossed 
My senses yester-even. 

We may not all at once declare 
What we have felt in blessed mood, 
When the spirit of the breathing air 
Runs through us, like our blood. 

A finger on our lips is laid, 
Which wishes are too weak to move, — 
A spell that will not be gainsaid, 
The voicelessness of love. 

A Stillness which is not Content 
But Striving, such as may be guessed 
Is a dumb thing's disquietment, — 
A restlessness in rest. 

— One that a scattered last-night's dream 
At morn would vainly strive to string. 
May weave the whole, upon the stream 
Of mid- day idly balancing ; 



268 SHORTER POEMS. 

And I to-morrow in a song 
May speak those boisterous hopes and joys, 
Which yester-eve were leaping, strong 
As the merry blood that leaps along 
The veins of lusty boys. 



MISCELLANEOUS. IX. 269 



IX. THE CLEARING OF THE RAIN. 

The stars are hanging, one by one, 
In rows along the embowed sky ; 
And the great moon stilly looketh on, 
And the sweet wind runneth by. 

The rain all day in large long drops 
Fell, never ceasing ; — now the wind 
Hath dried the tall acacia tops, 
And the beechen boughs behind. 

But the chesnut leaf is heavy still. 
And the clover and the beaded corn ; 
And merrily o'er the whirling mill 
Will the swollen brook be borne. 

Come forth, my sister, come and share 
The boon of joy to nature given, 
The freshness of the lightened air. 
And the mirth of the naked heaven ! 



270 SHORTER POEMS. 



X. 



Awake, sweet nightingale, awake and sing 

For I am listening. 

And I can read thy meaning melody, 

(By my own love-taught heart so gifted,) 

Or if it trembling creep among the boughs, 

Low as a boy's first vows ; 

Or if in tumult long and loud 'tis lifted 

Up to the blue roof of the summer sky. 

Sing, bashful bird, — sing up ! — be bold, and throw 

The balmy overflow 

Of thy full heart along the heedless wood : 

The trunks can never tell thy pain. 

And may-be it may comfort some lorn lad. 

Half sorrowful, half glad, 

Who at a tree-foot thinketh o'er again 

The unmastered mystery of his racing blood. 

Oh ! it is comfort at grey eventide, 

Set by the Loved One's side, 

To list, while all that from our human tongue, 

We could not strike with our best skill, 



MISCELLANEOUS. X. 27: 

Is poured into our ears from nature's lyre ; 
Filling our high desire 
With notes, as fiery as our headlong will, 
Yet softly, as our natural reverence, sung ! 

Yes ! bring thy love beneath the starry sky. 

Ere yet the eyes be dry 

From the first knitting of two hearts in one ; 

And care not that thy lips are mute ; 

So the sweet bird, love's best interpreter, 

Be there to offer her 

The gratulations of his untired lute, 

Thanks, love, hope, fear, in rapturous unison ! 



272 SHORTER POEMS, 



XI. MOTHER'S LOVE. 

He sang so wildly did the Boy, 

That you could never tell, 

If 'twas a madman's voice you heard. 

Or if the spirit of a bird 

Within his heart did dwell. 

A bird that dallies with his voice 

Among the matted branches ; 

Or on the free blue air his note 

To pierce, and fall, and rise, and float, 

With bolder utterance launches ; 

None ever was so sweet as he. 

The boy that wildly sang to me, 

Though toilsome was the way and long, 

He led me not to lose the song. 

But when again we stood below 

The unhidden sky, his feet 

Grew slacker, and his note more slow, 

But more than doubly sweet. 

He led me then a little way 

Athwart the barren moor, 

And then he stayed and bade me stay 

Beside a cottage door ; 



MISCELLANEOUS. XI. 273 

I could have stayed of mine own will, 
In truth, my eye and heart to fill 
With the sweet sight which I saw there, 
At the dwelling of the cottager, 

A little in the doorway sitting, 

The mother plied her busy knitting, 

And her cheek so softly smiled, 

You might be sure, although her gaze 

Was on the meshes of the lace, 

Yet her thoughts were with her child. 

But when the boy had heard her voice, 

As o'er her work she did rejoice, 

His became silent altogether. 

And slily creeping by the wall, 

He seized a single plume, let fall 

By some wild bird of longest feather ; 

And all a-tremble with his freak, 

He touched her lightly on the cheek. 

O what a loveliness her eyes 
Gather in that one moment's space, 
While peeping round the post she spies. 
Her darling's laughing face ! 
O mother's love is glorifying. 
On the cheek like sunset lying ; 
In the eyes a moistened light. 
Softer than the moon at night ! 



274 SHORTER POEMS. 



XII. VERSES FOR A COMMON CASE. 

Yes, Alice, there was wont to be 

A trouble on thy brow, 
And grief and pain 'twas then to me, 

But not such pain as now : 
I deemed the shadow was but thrown 

From transient unrest ; 
I knew not that it was thine own, 

And born within thy breast. 

I knew not then that thou hadst been 

To other than to me, 
As sunset is unto the green 

As moonlight to the sea, 
A light to lighten what was sad, 

To deepen what was fair, 
A lamp of comfort, which has had 

Its presence every where. 

I looked that still it should be so, 

That rapture and that grief 
Should gain from thee a fresher glow. 

Or livelier relief: 



MISCELLANEOUS. XII. 275 

I thought that death, when death should come, 

Would lighter seem to me, 
Since, after death, the eternal tomb 

Would still be shared with thee. 

'Tis past away, that hope so bright, 

That flower whose glorious hue 
Clad the bare future with a light 

As lovely as untrue ; 
'Tis scattered, like a broken wave ; 

And I must now look on 
To sorrow, sickness, and the grave, 

Past and possessed alone. 

Think, Alice, once a little word, 

A momentary breath. 
Had left untied the triple cord 

Which binds us now till death ; 
The certain smile of tearless eyes, 

Upon our paths had set : 
And spared our past of stifled sighs, 

Our future of regret. 

Now, Alice, now we live or die, 

United though alone ; 
In all the rest apart, brought nigh 

In this, our little One ! 
Here is the cord that will not break, 

The bond we cannot sever, 
The tie so strong, that it shall make 

Our fates the same for ever. 



276 SHORTER POEMS. 

Yet can I blame the tong-ue too slow 

Thy secret love to tell, 
When I hang back and linger so 

O'er that one word ' farewell !' 
'Tis uttered ! — Alice, once most dear, 

Still too dear to my heart, 
I have performed my duty here, 

And, Alice, we must part. 

Go, take the child, our common child, 

I yield him with the rest ; 
Thou hast his little heart beguiled, 

He loves his mother best : 
I know if I have ever won 

Some share of love from thee, 
'Twas as his father — as thy son, 

The child is dear to me. 

Take him, for kind words kindly said, 

And looks all words above ; 
For years of wifely duty paid 

To one thou didst not love : 
Thine unwise choice thou didst fulfil 

Most nobly, though 'twas hard ; 
And it is fitting thou should'st still 

Bear with thee thy reward. 

Whate'er thy fate, may He on high, 

Whose aid alone is sure. 
Help thee the good to profit by, 

The evil to endure. 



MISCELLANEOUS. XII. 277 

And now farewell ! — turn not away, 

Though cold the word may be, 
Thou dost not know how I will pray 

For my own child and thee. 

I go unto my usual home, 

The hearth I used to praise ; 
But thou hast chilled the pleasant room, 

And dulled the cheerful blaze ; 
Well, well, I blame thee not for this. 

Reproach were worse than vain. 
Enough ! as mine the bygone bliss, 

Be mine the present pain ! 



278 SHORTER POEMS. 



Xm. THE FOURTH BELL. 

Again ! Ag-ain ! Another bell is sounding ! 
My heart is hardened, yet I hear it pass, 
Like thunderpeals from crag to crag rebounding, 
Or echoes ringing down a sea of glass : 
My heart is hardened, yet I cry, ' Alas !' 
And hurryiiig sobs choke up my burning throat ; 
And leaden pain, a heavy icy mass, 
Lies on my heart ; and like an empty boat 
My reason sways about on feeling's deeps afloat. 

Again ! Again ! A fourth ! and if the saddest, 
No wonder ; he it tolls for was the first ; 
His cheek the softest, and his eye the gladdest, 
His warning shortest, and his passage worst. 
The earliest love my childish bosom nursed 
Is cut away from earth, a perished flower ; 
Rathe bud, which just as summer's glory burst 
Upon it, by the pitiless, pelting shower 
Is cheated of its day before the noontide hour. (17) 

The crown of triple glory from his head 
Hath suddenly fallen ; Beauty, Joy, and Youth, 
Untwined, lie by him as he lieth dead. 
His neck'.s Adornment, Honour, Love, and 
Truth, 



MISCELLANEOUS. XIII. 279 

Lie all unlinked on's other side in sooth. 
No other head will they so fairly fit, 
Wrought in such nice proportion, more the ruth ! 
So with his lost perfections infinite 
About him, Love and Grief will lay him in his pit. 

They have been young whom I bewailed ere- 

while, 
My threefold embassage to highest heaven : 
They have been young ; but with sedater smile 
They laughed, and on their foreheads were 

engraven 
Thoughts deeper, passions calmer ; be forgiven 
The fondness if I yet loved thee the best, 
With thy quick spirit, and the bond unriven 
Of love and gaiety within thy breast, 
Besides, thou wert the first, so must I love thee best. 

Wouldst thou remind me of the grassy bank, 
Where we two played in childhood's sunny air ? 
Of each long lesson and each harmless prank 
We shared in turn ? An useless toil it were, 
For I forget them not, but with close care 
Have told them to myself for years and years, 
Deeming I hoarded seed of converse rare 
When we should meet again — 1 hoarded tears — 
Regret without its hopes, and love without its fears. 

Come back, old Sorrow, served by pleasant Hope ! 
Come back, old Love, with Fear beside thee set, 



280 SHORTER POEMS. 

Fear that day's dome or midnight's starry cope 
Should fall ; or thou thy dearest heart forget. 
O give me doubt, and hope, and terror yet ! 
Give me the sun and shade ; — the pleasant rack 
Of flitting clouds that vary and not fret ! 
O call the dim, fair, flequered azure back, 
And spare me this dire ceil of pure crystalline black I 

O Earth ! come help me with thy shaded face 
To mourn him ! Sky, assist me with thy dew ! 
Lo ! Joy is throned in every sunny place, 
On this green grass, on yon resplendent blue ; 
And Autumn's loveliest day comes forth to view. 
O Earth and Nature ! were the power but mine 
To quench your glories, I the deed could do , 
To lose the torture of yon sunny shine, 
And that bright sky I see, not feel, to be divine. 

Beauty is gone, and yet thou never mournest ; 
And Youth is gone, and thou art glad as ever : 
And death is here, and thou again returnest, 
With nodding trees and gaily-sparkling river : 
A sylvan Huntress with her glancing quiver, 
With horn and hound unto the green wood flying, 
So blithe as thou, thou careless Earth, was never. 
And yet before thy face the corse is lying, 
Where life and love are dead, and beauty's self is 
dying. 

O Earth, hard -hearted ! with how vain a yearning 



MISCELLANEOUS. XIII. 281 

Theancients calledthee Mother ! Heart of Pride, 
Where is thy darkened green, thy seemly mourn- 
ing 
For him who in his loveliness hath died, 
For him, the fairest son that Morning eyed, 
Or Night desired with longing heart to see I 
Earth ! Earth ! the lesson will not pass aside : 
Our mother thou art not, and wilt not be. 
Nor own the sons of God a filial love to thee ! 



282 SHORTER POEMS. 



XIV. 

In a (lark hut she lay, whose poverty 
Shewed strangely by the silken garments spread 
About her couch, the couch itself so poor. 
They were the garments of her former pride, 
Cherished, as hnking her with other days, 
Even in her wretchedness ; and now brought forth 
To lie upon her bed, for the mere warmth 
Which they might add to its thin coverlets. 

This was a piteous thing to see and know ; 
But there was worse than this in that bright eye, 
Shining from out her pale and hag-gard face 
With intellectual light, once plainly nursed, 
Alas ! as plainly now all but subdued 
By the o'erpowering damps 'mid which it burned. 
'Twas a sad sight indeed to us who looked 
Far back, from this sick bed to olden days, 
When in her boudoir's softened shade she sate, 
And conquered by her light and glancing wit 
The hearts that bent not to her loveliness. 
Then the soft sun had scarcely seen her cheek ; 
Now all autumnal blasts had license free 
Upon her very bed to visit her. Alas ! 
Alas ! I scarce can think of more than thus, 
To say, ' Alas !' and then, ' Alas !' again. 
Yes, so upon her broidered ottomans 



MISCELLANEOUS. XIV. 283 

She lazily laughed through the careless days, 
Till— 

— Yet misdeem not, he she loved was true, 
And she, at least, though weak may be within. 
And all unpropped by aught more sure than earth, 
Had learned no actual vice — oh deem it not. 
She was too worldly-proud for worldly shame ; 
And when she wedded, 'twas a sacrifice 
To one who well deserved it in the eye 
Of the more fair to judge, and if her world 
Shut hence its doors against her, one had deemed 
It were for good, not harm. Though he was poor, 
And though he grew from out a lowly stock, 
Yet was the seed of precious fruit in him ! 
But the fine essence that was there locked up 
Ate daily through its casquet ; and he died. 
And all his poet's dreamings died with him. 
And with one little child to mock her fate. 
Or cheer it, as might be, with its hght step 
And natural gaiety, his widowed wife 
Was left to toil for bread. And she did toil. 
With head and hands, writing one while, and then 
Varying with humbler labour her short days. 
So was it that she cheerfully upbore 
Her sorrow and her suffering, by the smile 
Of her sweet child repaid and overpaid ; 
Till God was pleased to take her merry boy 
Unto Himself in heaven. But then she drooped, 
And said her light was out, and she must sleep, — 
— And she lay down and very soon she slept. 



284 SHORTER POEMS. 



XV. 

This nipping air, this lowering day, 
Where is their power, and what are they ? 
Our joy why should we measure 
By what we nev^er can controul ; 
Methinks the self-acqaitted Soul 
Will help itself to pleasure. 

These fading Trees with wiser spirit 

Make their necessity a merit, 

And cheerful in decay, 

Meet every morn with brighter hues ; 

And why should thinking man refuse 

To be as wise as they ? 

Off with the petted gloom, — the toy 
Of wilful boyhood tired of joy ! 
Why should we pine to roam ? 
The heart which hath no inner blight, 
f s to itself its own delight, 
And makes its bliss at home. 

Our nature (could the truth depart ?) 
Is o:lad in a domestic heart. 



MISCF-LLAXEOUS. XV. 285 

And with its God for g-uest, 
May ever share a home-made feast ; 
Quell then this gloom, or be at least 
Tlie weakness unconfest ! 



286 SHORTER POEMS. 



XVI. 

My own dear love, I call thee so, 

And fear not to offend, 
For he my love must be, you know, 

Whoever is my friend. 

For I am one that may not ask 
For woman's smiles and tears; 

Long- past for me that pleasant task 
Of young-er, calmer years. 

i asked when I was yet a boy, 

I asked, and asked in vain ; 
And then died down that tree of joy 

Which will not spring- again. 

And many years I went astray. 

With sadness for my guide ; 
And thought, since that had passed away, 

There was no love beside. 

And so, though gay and free I seemed, 
To those whose hearts were glad. 

My hidden sorrow I esteemed 
The dearest thing I had. 



MISCELLAXEOUS. XVI. 287 

But then an hour filled heaven above, 

And filled the earth with joy ; 
Canst guess that hour, my own dear love ? 

Thou canst, thou dost, my boy ! 



288 SHORTER POEMS. 



XVII. 

'Tis like a bathe in waters clear, 
With flowers and shady branches near, 
To sit, my love, with thee ; 
To sit by thee, my love, and hear 
Thy voice so fresh and free. 

O thou canst fondly move and speak, 

And in the dimples of thy cheek 

Is hidden fresh delusion ; 

Grave looks and smiles so sly and sleek 

In winningest confusion. 

O yes, my eyes have their desire : 
No lily filled with sunset fire 
More lovely could you call ; 
No wildrose sporting on a briar 
In loveliness more natural. 

My eyes are glad, but gladder yet 
My spirit is, for there is set 
On all thou dost and sayest^ 
Affection, a fair coronet. 
And gentleness the gayest. , 



MISCELLANEOUS. XVII. 289 

Affection interfused with glee 
Is round thee ; as the deeper sea, 
Bespeckled from above, 
Folds tender shells, so quiet glee 
Encompasses my love. 



290 SHORTER POEMS. 



XVIII. 

Joyfully round the gleaming sky 
The dim white vapours roll, 
And joyful are my limbs, and I 
Am joyful in my soul. 

The crocuses are fled again, 

And yet we never mourn : 

Why should we ? Shall not we remain 

Until the flowers return ? 

I had a friend who saw the spring 
Into the earth descend ; 
But autumn's gathering birds took wing, 
And I had lost my friend. 

As fair was he as any flower, 

As delicately gay : 

— Dark, dark and sad to me the hour 

When he was torn away. 

Joy hath strange fancies : one is this. 
That it will lend and borrow, 
And oft exchange a present bliss 
For ,a departed Sorrow. 



MISCELLANEOUS. XIX. 291 



XIX. TO A BUTTERFLY. 

Deem'st thou I would harm thee, Fairest, 

That thou fleest down the wind ? 
Or is't but the dread thou bearest 

To our handed humankind ? 

Salutary fear thoug-h blind ! 
Is it thine implanted nature, 

Or the judgment of thy mind. 
Tell me, tell me, little Creature, 

So resplendent ! so unkind ! 

Thou dost ill if me thou fearest, 

I could hurt few living things ; 
And of all that flits and flees 
In the hedgerow, in the trees, 

Surely thou art still the dearest, 
For thy glorious horns and wings, 
For those folds of tenderest amber, 

Eyed with many an orb of red, 
Fitting napery for the chamber 

Of Titania, or the throne 

Of the delicate Oberon ! 

Come ! nay, fly ! 'tis wisely written 
In thy little heart to fly, 



292 SHORTER POEMS. 

Lest the innocent be smitten, 
And the guiltless creature die. 

Is it so ? Alas, the thirst, 

Earliest slaked in Abel's blood, 

Burns as fiercely as at first 
In our lineal multitude : 

Keep thy vantage, come not near. 

Thou dost passing well to fear ! 



XX. INSCRIPTION FOR A VASE OVER- 
GROWN VTITH VINE. 

Do me no harm, kind stranger, nor untwine 
A single swathe of my encircling vine ; 
So firm as I am thou thyself mayst be, 
And Love cling to thee as this Vine to me ! 



MISCELLANEOUS. XXI. 293 



XXI. TO A BROWN LOAF. 

Welcome, brown loaf, of cottage cheer 

So pleasantly reminding ; 
And pleasures ever dwelling near, 

Though oft beyond the finding. 

A clean white napkin from a board 

As clean as it, descending, 
A bowl of milk, and boonly stored 

The garden's wealth attending ; 

And rosy-cheeked and eager-eyed, 
Blithe boys and girls addressing 

To Him who doth their cheer provide 
The last meal's thankful blessing ; 

These are the sights for which to thee. 
Brown loaf, I am a debtor ; 

So come, when come thou canst, to me, 
The oftener 'tis the better ! 



294 SIEORTER POEMS. 



XXII. 



Dear , how could I outgo 

My love in words, who love thee so, 
That deepest draughts of deepest pleasure, 
The merry summer's merriest measure. 
The loveliest progress of the year, 
Were but a wearisome walk of woe, 
A funeral march, so slow, so slow, 
If thou shouldst not be near ? 

My sun art thou, my tender sun, 
That opes the sweet buds every one. 
Each bud, and bell, and fragrant blossom, 
That yields the rifling of its bosom 
To the wild spring so fond and free ; 
And if the sun should suddenly die, 
All earth were not so sad as I 
If thou wert gone from me. 

I love thee, as the stars above 
Affect the dewdrops of the grove, 
Which spring in answering pairs together, 
One star, one earth, and one in ether ; 
And not that brotherhood, though fixt 
In Nature's steadfastness, I wis. 
Is firmer or so firm as this 
Thyself and me betwixt. 



MISCELLANEOUS. XXIII. 295 



XXIII. INSCRIPTION 

FC'R A PYRAMID PLANTED WITH FLOWERS, THE 
TOMB OF A DOG. 

Look round these shelves, watch how the hungiy bee 

Sucks there the earliest wood-anemone ; 

Winks the sly violet here ; the primrose there 

Lights up its stars upon the shady air;- (18) 

Yonder the hooded lily meekly dwells ; 

'Here the blue hyacinth chimes its massive bells. 

Is this fond Nature's sport ? No ! human hands 

Reared the green mount; for Lion's sake it stands : 

Be thou as humble, loving, true, as he, 

And some may build as sweet a grave for thee. 



296 SHORTER POEMS. 



XXIV. 



You bid me sing— what shall I sing ? 

Of spring and spring's young roses, 
When hope's sweet breeze is on the wing, 

And love's sweet bud uncloses ; 
Or sing of Autumn's sad delay, 

Trees baring, blossoms blighting, 
And sleepy clouds before mid-day 

The golden sun benighting ? 

O be the song, you say, of spring ! 

'Tis fittest so, my dearest, 
When it is I that strike the string. 

And thou, sweet love, that hearest; 
'Tis fit because in youth and health 

We two sit here together, 
Lapped soft and safe in spring-tide's wealth 

Of flowers and fairest weather. 

So be it ! — shall I tell thee how 

In all these pleasures round us. 
Are mingled snares to overthrow 

And glories to confound us ? 
How silently into the breast 

With these delicious breezes 
Are drawn deep he^rt-aches unconfest, 

And treacherous diseases ? 



MISCELLANEOUS. XXIV. 297 

How many a parent's heart hath traced 

To such an hour as this is 
The loss which still for him lays waste 

Our yet unchallenged blisses ; 
— A pause to see the sunbeams pass, 

The annual leaves renewing ; 
An eve spent thus upon the grass, 

Such talk as ours pursuing ? 

Nay, nay, not so ! — with Hope, not Fear, 

Be youth and health acquainted. 
Nor be the freshness of the year 

With such sere wisdom tainted : 
If every tree along the ground 

The future winds were scenting. 
Where were the shady arbours found, 

The summer heart contenting ? 

Wild works the heart in bondage here. 

And shall we then unchain it ; 
No watchful doubt, no prudent fear. 

To warn it, to. restrain it ? 
Through rugged roads its path must lie. 

And places dark and lonely. 
And shall we teach the untravelled eye 

To look for sunshine only ? 

Nay, doubt not, friend, the genial mood, 

A slavish Fear preferring ; 
It is not Fear but Gratitude 

Keeps best the heart from erring : 



298 SHORTER POEMS. 

With finer care she warns, made strong 

By prescient recollections ; 
With tenderer foot she treads among 

The fanciful affections. 

She never wounds with breath austere 

The buds of kindly feeling ; 
With love she works, from love down here 

To upper love appealing- : 
By memory stretching to a past 

Of favours felt already, 
And faith that holds the future fast 

She keeps the present steady. 

A curious eye that asks in all, 

Whose grace and glory wears it? 
A heart that listens for the call 

And answers when it hears it. 
No more she needs to guide us by 

Through Earth's most dangerous blisses. 
Dear friend, have we that watchful eye, 

And such a heart as this is ? 



MISCELLANEOUS. XXV. 299 



XXV. SONG. 

LovEST thou streams that swiftly flow, 

Separating bank from lea ? 
Yes, thou lovest them well I know — 

Come, oh come then, come with me ! 

Lovest thou woods where friendship's flowers 
Twine around each mossy tree ? 

Lovest thou heather-twisted bowers ? 
Come, oh come then, come with me ! 

Lovest thou in a lonely dell 

Converse with its Deity ? 
Yes, I know thou lovest it w^ell. 

Come, oh come then, come with me ! 

Bound in Friendship's holiest chain, 

Dost thou struggle to be free ? 
Stretch not — strive not — 'tis in vain, 

Come, oh come then, come with ine ! 



300 SHORTER POEMS. 



XXVI. 

It may be, must be, that the sky, 

Encumbered with a cloudy crust, 

Shall cease to shine ; each lovely ily 

Lay down its golden panoply 

And go again to dust ; 

The leaves must first be scorched, then fall 

The turf turn grey beneath our feet ; 

And every flower, and field, and all 

The bright expanse of winding meads. 

Grow scentless as they now are sweet ; 

The sheep and glossy kine must needs 

Soon cease to low and bleat ; 

The birds to sing this buxom strain ; 

Old winter must come back again : 

But though it be thus surely willed 

By power that is without. 

Yet let us with our joy be filled. 

And have no fear nor doubt ; 

For if the power within be not 

Too idle, while the sun is here, 

The fruit of this our gladder lot, 

Bright thoughts and fancies clear. 



MISCELLANEOUS. XXVI. 301 



Will yet be stored and unconsumed ; 
And winter's gloom, thereby illumed, 
Seem but a tender sweet half-light, 
Not darker than an autumn night. 



302 SHORTER POEMvS. 



XXVII. 

I AM rated by my neighbours, 

I am scoffed at by the wise, 
That my fancy so o'erlabours 

For such cold ungrateful eyes. 

When I tell them all this frowning 

Is a pretty April mood, 
They, their brows with wrinkles crowning 

Question the similitude. 

— But the clouds at times defiling 
Thy clear forehead, others see : 

What proves this but that thy smiling 
Is reserved, sweet love, for me ? 



MISCELLANEOUS. XXV ill. 303 



xxvm. 

He sate, no stiller stands a rock, 
And gazed upon an ancient clock ; 
He heard its steady even tone, 
He watched its finger moving on, 
From one to five, from five to ten, 
So through its hourly course again. 
Thus sate he through the livelong day, 
And as the minutes sped away. 
So seemed it to the wretch, he felt 
The life that in his members dwelt 
(Like waxen image set of old 
By magic fire with rites untold) 
Minute by minute, hour by hour. 
Waste and still waste its vital power. 
And melt perceptibly away. 
Thus sate he through the livelong day. 
Powerless alike for good or ill, 
Bound hand and foot, a captive still ; 
Wretched and conscious of his lot. 
And longed to rise and yet did not. 
Oh, what a lesson was there told 
In that wise saw that said of old, 
'* One half thy will thou sure wilt win 
So soon as e'er thou darest begin !" 



304 SHORTER POEMS. 



XXIX. TO ONE WEEPING AT THE FALL 
OF A TREE. 

Our old Ash gone ? — And why the tear, 

If it be lopped away ? 

It is the fate of all things here 

That they should all decay. 

But not decayed, but in its bloom, 
And in its pride of years ; 
— Asks not at least so sad a doom 
These unavailing tears ? 

Nature asks nought that nought avails : 
Yet give thy heart relief ; 
There is a spirit in these dales 
That justifies the grief. 

Look round ! — we have no purple hills 
That scale the evening sky ; 
No far-seen falls of sparkling rills 
These pastures dignify. 

Yet have we beauty of our own, 
A bliss which may we keep ! 
Which gives our hearts a gentle tone, 
And teaches us to weep. 



MISCELLANEOUS. XXIX. 305 

Green pastoral fields that for their state 
Look to the sky above, 
And on the clouds and sunshine wait 
With reverential love ; 

These are our boon : nor fail thereto 
Calm waters, that appear 
To watch the fields they wander through, 
And brighten with the year. 

Thus all things round us tune, I guess, 
The spirit and the sense 
To a dependent tenderness 
And mutual confidence : 

And thou mayst weep : for if the tears 
Raise not the fallen tree, 
They keep thy heart for other years 
The closer friend to thee. 



306 SHORTER POEMS. 



XXX. 

My heart leaps up when I behold 
A Rainbow in the sky. 

Wordsworth, 

It was a day of shower and sun, 

By summer breezes softly fanned, 
Among-st the vales and mountains dun, 

And sprinkled Lakes of Cumberland : 
Such day as best that land may choose, 

Where Nature's choicest gifts have striven, 
And Earth puts forth her freshest hues 

To sparkle in the light of heaven. 

I passed along the mountain side, 

And watched the falling- drops that broke 
The crystal Lake's transparent tidej 

While hills beyond in sunshine woke : 
And marked the gleams that passing o'er 

Brought out in clear distinctive view 
The heathered outlines that before 

Were melted into shapeless blue. 

But soon a sight of new surprise 

Called off my thoughts from even flow 

I saw a rainbow arch arise, 

And span half-way the vale below. 



MISCELLANEOUS. XXX. 307 

In bold relief it stood displayed 

Ao-ainst the further mountain's side ; 

And bolder still in darkest shade 

Towered up that mountain's loftier pride. 

Most beautiful it was to trace 

That blended arch of sparkling rain 
Rise gently upward from the base, 

And fall as gently down again. 
That faultless outline's perfect mould, 

Those blended hues in fair degree ; 
But yet, though beauteous to behold, 

It was no sight of joy to me. 

For I in southern lands had dwelt, 

Where hills are low and clouds are high ; 
And, taught unconsciously, had felt 

That bow an inmate of the sky. 
And fondly deemed that arch's span. 

That soaring pile that sprang to birth, 
A breadth beyond the reach of man, 

A height above the touch of earth. 

It was a shape of joy and praise, 

The welcome * rainbow in the sky ;' 
Linked with young childhood's holiest gaee 

And poets' sweetest minstrelsy, 
And sight it was of saddening pain 

To find the covenant bow shrunk down, 
A humble inmate of the plain, 

A mountain's tributary crown. 



308 SHORTER POEMS. 

Alas that ignorance chid and taught, 

Whilst wandering in life's onward maze, 
Should ever break some clue of thought 

That leads us back to earlier days ! 
Alas that knowledge icy cold 

Should join the humble with the true, 
To leave us, as its stores are told, 

The wiser and the poorer too ! 

Four years, my friend, are passed along. 

Since thou and I together first 
Opened that spring of friendship strong, 

That will not fail our constant thirst. 
How many a hope that then would rise 

Hath faded since that time away ; 
The hues that decked our former skies. 

The rainbows of an earlier day. 

How many an end we cherished best, 

A stay in sorrow and in pain, 
Has stood discovered and confessed, 
. Unhallowed, impotent, and vain : 
And thoughts we deemed of heavenly birth 

Have proved them sprung from selfish mind, 
By some tall point of grosser earth 

That rose above them and behind. 

Grieve not for these, though bright they shone 
Far better that our hopes should die. 

Than vain and dazzled wander on. 
Unthinking of the purer sky ; 



MISCELLANEOUS. XXX. 309 

The foolish heart would strive to blend 

The fleeting mist's fallacious hue, 
The passing tints that vapours lend. 

With highest heaven's abiding blue. 

Grieve not for these : nor dare lament 

That thus from childhood's thoughts we roam : 
Not backward are our glances bent 

But forward to our Father's home. 
Eternal growth has no such fears, 

But freshening still with seasons past, 
The old man clogs its earlier years, 

And simple childhood comes the last. 

Yes, as each ignorant thought of pride 

Yields to the touch of wisdom true, 
Some hateful bar is cast aside 

That held us from that childhood's view : 
As each new lesson swells the whole, 

A new and lasting link is given, 
Some foretaste of the childlike soul 

Of such as are the sons of heaven. 



310 SHORTER POEMS. 



XXXI. 

'Tis a pleasant shade 
That winds old Avon's cloven arm, a shade 
Of beechen boughs, and oak, and starry larch ; 
And over Aganippe a green birch 
Hangs down its arms, and with a gentle hand 
Plays with the water ; flinging buds thereon 
In spring, and when the flighty summer wind 
Is higher than his wont, a few bright leaves. 
At even, when the west is all ablaze, 
A tender light lies on it, not the sun's 
'Tis true, but a delicious yellow haze, 
Lit by the sun upon the neighbouring isle 
Which is one sheet of king-cups — 'twere too bright 
Even thus, if 'twere not for some willow boughs 
That temper it with dim uncertain grey. 
Yet though shut out from sunset, deem it not 
Disconsolate, for through the western firs 
Come dark red gleams not seldom, and the gnats 
In their wreathed dance catch oft upon their wings. 
The light, and fling it down upon the stream. 



MISCELLANEOUS. XXXII. 311 



XXXII. 

My window bower is ^reen and bright. 
Though something of an autumn light 
Is hiding in the leaves, 
A lustre warm and rich yet clear, 
That hints the tender Season near 
Which smiles as it bereaves. 

My fuchsia buds grov/ somewhat pale, 
And should a harsher air prevail 
Than lifts June's lazy boughs, 
Silently circling down the breeze 
A leaf or two from yonder trees 
The warning voice allows. 

So sang I, — when the Summer leant 
On Autumn's breast in gay content. 
And felt no deeper care 
Than gratifies a happy soul, 
If thus at times the Suitor stole 
A lock of her bright hair. 



312 SHORTER POEMS. 

I have lived round the year : I saw 
The summer loveliness withdraw, 
The winter blank succeed : 
The heart that gleans as it should glean 
Will know what nature's warnings mean, 
And listen and take heed. 



MISCELLANEOUS. XXXIII. 313 



XXXIII. A REQUEST AND THE ANSWER. 

'* Give me one Thought of thine, to be 

'* A living' monument of thee ; 

" Though soon obscured, though soon forgot, 

' ' The thoughts of mortals perish not ; 

"' There is a time when all shall come, 

" Like trooping sprites, to hear their doom; 

'' All on the opening mind shall blaze, 

" The gathered lights of many days. 

" All live till then ; that judgment past, 

" Thoughts fair and fruitful only last. 

" Then give one Thought, 'twill last, though frail, 

" At least till earth's foundations fail. 

" And haply then, to Heaven preferred, 

" Live in its archives registered." 

Askest thou a thought ? Ah ! what is thought ? 

A fleeting shade ; a thing of nought. 

Sitting on babbling lips, whose cry 

Lures onward iron Poverty ; 

A nerveless shape ; an ice-cold flame ; 

An idol ; now a chance-born name, 

Now flaunting in the eyes of men. 

Now lurking in some lonely den ; 

A coin to cheat with ; or a stone 



314 SHORTER POEMS. 

Transmitting lustre not its own. 

Yet what so cheap ? let one receive 

Expression, hundreds more will heave 

Ready for life ; as on the shore 

One sparkling wave may break and roar 

For myriads more that swell and strain. 

Far in the deep unbroken main. 

Ten thousand beams are lost in space 

For one that lights a planet's face ; 

The dull dead earth drinks up the shower, 

One raindrop gems the living flower ; 

While bowing foliage strains the root 

Few leaves protect the nestling fruit ; 

So thoughts are countless, truths are few, 

That thought is nought which tells not true. 

Then ask not such ; their tinsel light 
May ill befit the pageant bright, 
Passions unfeigned, the issuing train 
That thickly throng another's brain ; 
Who, wise in time, hath cared to stay 
Their footsteps ere they passed away. 
The solar fountain glows and burns, 
Cold beams the musing moon returns ; 
Mine, like the phantom fires that flame 
On Hecat's altar, scarce may claim 
To mix their lamp with torches bright 
From Nature's hearth, true vestal light ; 
For, be the fuel pure or foul, 
Not Thought but Passion fires the soul. 



MISCELLANEOUS. XXXTII. 315 

Passionless thoughts are mine, nor dare 

Thy high theatric pomp to share ; 

Nor should they, knew I not the glow 

Of torches lit at hearths we know, 

How ill strange fire in Fancy's eye 

With such auspicious light may vie ; 

The priceless value of a weed 

When much-loved soil hath nursed the seed ; 

A fruitless flower, a thought, a name. 

Prized for the place from which they came. 

Take, then, this thought, the end will shew 

Whether 'tis vanity or no. 

— Few rightly name the name of Love, 

Who never sought its source above ; 

Few save the heaven-taught bard could tell 

Of that mysterious chain that fell 

From Jove's high throne, its mighty girth 

Binding to heaven the balanced earth. 

Who ne'er has learnt the fruitful end 

For which he lives, nor striven to bend 

Heart, mind, and will, to that high goal 

Lacks Love's full brightness in his soul. 



316 SHORTER POEMS. 



XXXIV. ON A MELANCHOLY BIRTHDAY 
SONG. 

Not rightly they who have ere while essayed 

The celebration of Time's turning days, 

A finger of high praise 

Upon their harps have laid, 

And tuned a lofty measure 

Of hope, and youth, and pleasure, 

And joys of life more sweet that they are yet delayed ; 

They should have wailed and wept, 

And thought of things undone and things gone by, 

And them who kept 

Their rest beneath the turf so silently. 

Yet hark ! ev'n they, 

The noisy dancers round Time's rolling wheel, 

When for themselves the lay 

Hath been awaked, by what they/eeZ 

Taught truth they knew not when 'twas faraway. 

Have let the music steal 

Far up and down among the Years, 

Kissing with faint and farewell kisses 

The olden joys it misses. 

As each appears ; 



MISCELLANEOUS. XXXIV. 317 

As 'twere the odour of a dying flower, 

With sad soft visiting, 

Searching each nook of that despoiled bower 

Which thrilled beneath its fragrance in the spiing. 



318 SHORTER POEMS. 



XXXV. ON VISITING A WILD BEAST SHOW 
AFTER AN EVENING WALK. 

Sunset and these fierce sounds, the brazen Eve 
And these wild Asian voices, 'tis no wrong 
To Nature's sing-le heart to join them thus. 
So thought I to subdue the intruding doubt 
With reason's reedy spear : I might have won 
And taught my heart to go astray for years, 
But for one little thing, no more than this. 

Where our dear spring goes trickling silently 
Into the deeper stream (no gentle wind 
That glides into the deep of the air, more still) 
An hour before I stood. Quiet was there, 
All quiet, the deep quiet of the eve, 
The deeper quiet of Love, for he with me 
Stood looking on that little trickling stream 
Whom I love more than life, and in whose love 
I taste that calm I never knew before, 
The quiet of a satisfied heart. The west 
Meanwhile was tossing in the setting sun, 
Billowy calm, and wild volcanic surf, 
A sea of golden fire ! But all the storm 
Was noiseless, so the mind, being undisturbed 
By terror, could enjoy the unreal shew, 
And to its peace add yet the accessional calm 



MISCELLANEOUS. XXXV. 319 

Of fancy in fruition. All this peace 

Fell round us, him and me, in Holbrook Copse ; 

And twinkling' leaves, and folded daisy buds, 

Bent for repose, the gnats, and the dimming' distance, 

And all the usual remembrancers 

Of rest and slumber, could not move us more. 

Then the dear company of our English birds, 

Cuckoo, and the wooden-throated crake, and lark 

Whose heart outswells his bosom, these we left 

In their last ecstasy, and I, alone. 

Entered the throno^ed menas^erie. 

The shock 
Was broken by sweet music, and at first 
I felt not aught unfitting. There around 
Was all that beauty, beauty of colour, and form, 
And power, and dim association. 
Which I have loved since childhood, haply then : 
The leopard, that among my nightly dreams 
Hath laid his snowy lip to Junga's wave 
At noon or the Indian eve, while over him 
The oleander held a tender shade 
Of pale pink tremulous iiowers ; and there as well 
The lion lay asleep, or half awake 
Lifted a grave slow eye, till I could think 
The light distilled through palm leaves, and the 

ground 
Bestrewn with withered dates ; and there besides 
Were all the Southern Americ's gorgeous birds, 
And Africa's fair serpents. Yet ere long 
Came doubt lest I profaned the quiet eve 



320 SHORTER POEMS. 



1 



I quitted for these wonders. Reason wove 
A cunning web, and nature's unseen hand 
Untwined it ; I was vexed with painful doubts ; 
And all the calm that I had gathered up 
Into the garner of my heart, from eve 
And love, was wasting. Then a little voice 
Pierced through that discord of the heart and head ; 
A little voice, one same, low, plaintive note, 
The coo of a caged stock-dove. 

Instantly 
I did abjure all doubt, and put away 
All trouble and unrest, and though I stayed 
For others' sakes in that hot booth, meanwhile 
My heart was with my love in Holbrook Copse. 



MISCELLANEOUS. XXXVI. 321 



XXXVI. THE MOON WHOM CAPTIVES LOVE. 

Smile of the moon ! — for so I name 

That silent greeting- from above ; 
A gentle flash of light that came 

From her whom drooping captives love. 

THE LAMEXX OF MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS. 
WOEDSWORTH. 

He knew thee well, fair Queen of Night, 

Who named thee her whom captives love : 

For then methinks the harred delight 

Doth not so painfully invite ; 

And all the walks by hill and grove 

Put on a calm pictorial mien, 

As less to be desired than seen. 

Not she alone whose woe-worn eyes 
In many a noontide's glowing mood 
Saw joy they could not recognize : 
Not she alone hath learned to prize 
The stiller bliss ; and understood 
That raptures which do not repress 
Out of themselves their own excess, 
Make an imperfect happiness. 

At such an hour a lovelier heart 
Than dwelt in Scotland's lovely queen, 



322 SHORTER POEMS. 

Learned too the self-consoling art ; 
Rent his dark prison's walls apart, 
While his clear spirit walked unseen 
In realms as glorious as the mind 
Can reach when earth is left behind. 

Honour to Raleigh — deathless name ! 

Honour and pity : never a star 

Breathes from the height of noble fame 

A tenderer or a brighter flame ; 

With him all gentle fancies are, 

That hedge from Time's desire the great, 

The good, and the unfortunate. 

He through his bars a wandering eye 
(No truant to the heart at home) 
Sent often when the moon was high, 
While gleams as silver as the sky 
From gabled roof, and spire, and dome. 
Told still of life, but life subdued 
To silence and to solitude. 

So works the Earth to comfort all : 

And thus by many a change benign 

She answers every nature's call : 

And every ill that can befall 

Our spirit hath its medicine ; 

Hath hours, when all the world seems bent, 

To ease its private discontent ! 



MISCELLANEOUS. XXXVIT. 323 



XXXVII. TRANSLATION. 

jENEID XI. 342 — 377. 

Turn Drances idem infensus, quem gloria Turni 
Obliqua invidia stimulisque agitabat amaris, 
Surgit et his onerat dictis atque aggerat iras. 

Matter to none obscure, nor our poor voice 

Requiring takest thou counsel of, g-ood king ! 

What end the fortune of our nation brings 

AH know, allow they knoAv, yet dread to speak. 

He must first give them liberty of speech, 

Unloose their prisoned breath, by whose advice. 

Ill-omened, and whose manners ill-severe. 

So many leaders' eyes have closed, — through whom 

Our city sits together in our sight 

One company of mourners, while he tries 

The Troian camp (his confidence in flight) 

And startles heaven with arms. 

Most excellent king ! 
One gift yet farther to those gifts proposed, 
Propitiation to the Dardanids, 
One only gift add more — thy virgin child. 
Her, let the violence of none withstand 
But that her father to a son-in-law 
Most noble, nuptials worthy, do present ; 



324 SHORTER POEMS. 

With an eternal bond sealing this peace. 

But if a fear so terrible possess 

Our hearts and minds, himself let us entreat, 

From him beseech our pardon for the deed ; 

Let him give up the maid, — to king and country 

Yield of his grace their own ! Why, why so oft 

Dost thou fling out upon this naked peril 

The wretched citizens, head of Latium's woe ? 

No help is there in war, peace ask we all, 

Turnus, and peace's only certain pledge. 

I first, thy fancied foe, ready to bear 

That name in truth, if need be, — see ! I come 

A suppliant : have thou pity on thy friends, 

Subdue thy soul, be vanquished and depart ! 

Enough already of defeat and death 

Have we beheld, and mighty fields laid waste. 

Or if fame move thee so, if in thy breast 

So strongly breed the valour, and so sweet 

The indowered sceptre seem, have then thy will, 

Offer the foe with confidence thy breast. 

So Turnus gets his royal wife, and we 

(Cheap lives) are indistinguishably strewn 

Upon the earth, unburied, unbewailed ! 

Now, if thou darest, aught if thou possess 

Of that thy lineal valour, look in the face 

Him who now calls thee ! 

Kindled the fire in Turnus' heart thereat ; 
Groaning, from out the bottom of his breast 
Break forth these words. 



DARKNESS DEPARTED. 



STANZAS INTRODUCTORY. 

My Lute, since Love enslaved thy numbers 

A change hath passed across the strings, 
And thou hast caught in peaceful slumbers 

A vision of serener things ; 
And Passion's wayward flight is over ; 

And Fancy's fever-fit is past ; 
And all tlie tumults of the lover 

Are settled in the friend at last ! 

'Tis true, my heart with fresher blossom 

Is green — but there is none for thee — 
Oh how the tongue belies the bosom ! 

O take thy choice most full and free ; 
If I have stayed the hasty finger, 

That long ere this thy strings had drest, 
Believe, be sure, I did but linger 

To judge which seemed the worthiest. 

And I have judged, and I will gather, 

And I will twine my fau-est flowers, 
Sweet Peace, and Love, that bloom the rather 

For wintry winds and clouded hours ; 
That Peace, the ever-green unfailing, 

Whicb screens the soul from storms of sin ; 
That Christian Love that lies exhaling 

Its odorous incense safe within. 

My gentle Lute, full many a folly 

Hath erst been wedded to thy chords ; 



328 STANZAS INTRODUCTORY. 

Wild Love, distempered Melancholy, 
And fondest knots of fondest words : 

O be that use forgot, forgiven ! 

Let mirth give place to thoughts more meet. 

And earthly weeds to flowers of heaven 
SuiTender, fairer in defeat ! 

Some herbs earth's valleys have about them, 

To human hearts so sweet and dear. 
That heaven's own amaranths without them 

Could seem but dull and scentless here ; 
Henceforth may such mixed garlands cherish 

Thy new-strung chords, my gentle lute, 
Or let the frailer flowerets perish ! 

And 5'^e, loved strings, be mute ! be mute ! 



DARKNESS DEPARTED. (19) 



Alone, alone, quite desolate. 

My friends afar, or cold, 
In study's self-deceiving state 

My weary watch I hold. 

But oh ! I study not ; the book 

Upon my knee may lie ; 
'Tis all unread ; I only look 

Upon the starry sky. 

Sometimes unto the page I turn. 

But oh ! 'tis all in vain ; 
My head swims round, my eye-balls burn, 

Till I look up again. 

And wandering thought will ever stray 

To those bright stars above, 
And think of her as far away. 

And her as watchful love, 



330 SHORTER POEMS. 



II. 

How often sit I, twining" sand; 

In all my dark to-come, 
Striving but vainly to command 

One sunny spot for home ; 

One slip of green whereon to set 
A home where I might lie, 

And looking downwards half forget 
The black o'erhanging sky ! 



DARKNESS DEPARTED. III. 331 



III. 

They ask me if I have not ^ot 

Some secret in my brain, 
I say, Oh yes ! now guess ye what — 

Nay, prithee, guess again. 
They say, Some lady's smiles are hid. 

He is in love, you know : 
Now very God in heaven forbid 

That love should e'er be so ! 

No ! 'tis not love, for love is made 

Of joy and pain mixed up, 
And this to my cold lips conveyed 

Is an unmingled cup : 
I have no hopes and secret smiles 

To cheat me of my sleep ; 
Me of my rest no bliss beguiles, 

I lie awake to weep ! 

For love, the flower, is dead and dry ; 

Its blossom died before ; 
I but remember with a sigh 

What blessed hues it wore. 
It was the first, best, only Plant 

That in my garden grew ; 
And I must love it, though it want 

Its olden scent and hue. 



332 SHORTER POEMS. 

So 'tis love's ghost who dwells with me, 

A thin and bloodless shade, 
And me almost as thin as he 

His company hath made. 
My diet — how I sleep and eat, 

May others never know ! 
My rest is on dead hopes, my meat 

Is words said long ago. 

And so they tell me I am pale, 

And in my youth look old, — 
I marvel that a sadder tale 

Hath not ere this been told ; 
The tempest now hath been so long 

And fierce above my head. 
If I had not been young and strong 

I long since had been dead. 

But no, I cannot wholly die, 

For God who reigns above 
Knows that I could not upwards fly ; 

My wings are tied by love. 
I cannot win my thoughts away 

From this world's pain and sorrow ; 
Methinks I scarce could kneel and pray 

If I must die to-morrow. 

No ! my dead heart may not awake ; 

'Tis buried in the earth ; 
'Twere likelier that a corpse should break 

His coffin and come forth. 



DARKNESS DEPARTED. III. 333 

Love dying drew with it my heart, 

My heart holds down my soul ; 
I cannot rend the links apart, 

And I must lose the whole. 

I speak with calmness, yet I know 

Full well the words I say : 
1 thought of them so long ago, 

They give small pain to-day. 
And this it is whose deadly shade 

Hath killed my hopes of joy ; 
And me so pale and thin hath made, 

And aged while a boy. 



334 SHORTER POEMS. 



IV. 

My store of love is gathered in, 

And never may I seek ag-ain. 
For mine own gain, the smiles to win 

Which men throw carelessly to men ; 
To know they are mine own, no chance 

Directing, but an earnest eye, 
Which sends to mine the meaning glance 

Of mutual fealty. 

As I have done, no more do I : 

Again I may not wander forth 
To tend the sympathies that lie 

Uncared for on the thriftless earth. 
Till the waste plant grow up apace, 

A pleasant bower, a shady tree ; 
To many souls a resting-place, 

A very home to me ! 



DARKNESS DEPARTED. V. 335 



V. 



This one sad truth how truly keep 
The faithless host of years, 

That he who sows in smiles shall reap 
In unavailino' tears : 



o 



That though Joy's beams a moment shroud 

Our pilgrimag-e of pain, 
'Tis but a Rainbow, and the cloud 

Will soon be black again. 



336 SHORTER POEMS. 



VI. 

Let me return ! — I have not found 
The treasure which I hid of old, 
Or deemed I hid, amidst the sound 
Of these dark billows pacing round, 
A young heart's blessed hopes profound, 
And quietness untold. 

At even, when the parting sun 
Outspread his glowing wings for flight, 
I came, and in the twihght dun 
Hid many joys, and many an one 
In the blue vest of night ; 

Joys gathered from the day ; the thought 
Of smiles from eyes that loved me breaking 
And lightning looks from clouded wrought ; 
And things to others that seemed nought. 
To me sweet pastime making. 

These I hid here by this dread sea, 
Among these rocks so drear and lone ; 
And deemed I had whereto to flee 
If darker days should come to me ; 



DARKNESS DEPARTED. VI. 337 

And darker days are come to me, 
And now my hoard is gone ! 

And now all stern is nature's face ; 
And fervent souls, though wounded, high, 
Brook ill her only grudging grace, 
The loneness of the desert place, 
And the o'er-brooding sky. 

And hearts not thankless yet must long 
For other sights and sounds than these ; 
The striving, unattaining throng 
Of waves rolled fruitlessly along, 
And the dull galleyslave-like song 
Of the laborious seas. 

Let me return, before the throne 
Of human sympathy to kneel, 
If there be such ; — if not, my own 
Close heart shall better mourn alone, 
Than grieve to this unhearing stone. 
And sea that cannot feel. 

Again be yours your solitude, 
Unlistening Rocks and scornful Sea ! 
No more upon your haughty mood 
My tones of sorrow shall intrude, 
Ye are too high for me ! 

I came to you, my old repose, 
The peace of happier days to find ; 



338 SHORTER POEMS. 

And I have learned how Nature grows 
More niggard as our need she knows, 
And lets her sun but shine for those 
That have a sunny mind. 



DARKNESS DEPARTED. VII. 339 



VII. A FAREWELL TO AN OLD SET OF 
COLLEGE ROOMS. 

Farewell, old rooms, both good and ill 
Have passed in you, and must do still ; 
Though to others be the fears, 
Hopes, and happiness, and tears. 
Life must be a mingled cup, 
Joy and sorrow make it up, 
Lovings, hatings, comings, leavings, 
Hopings, trustings, undeceivings. 
Ah ! 'tis sometimes hard to know 
If the weal exceed the woe, 
Or the bitter overflow. 

You, old walls, have seen me lie 
On my tossed bed sleeplessly. 
While I thought of them that lay 
Cold, and dead, and far away ; 
Him beside the soft wave hidden, 
Once by Roman bark beridden, 
When the laurelled conqueror brought 
Good and evil strangely wrought. 
Arts and knowledge, shame and fear, 



340 SHORTER POEMS. 

To the barbarian islander ; 
Or the milder face of him 
Nursed in valleys deep and dim, 
Where the soul of man is bent, 
Nature's kindly instrument, 
To the still and holy mood 
Of the Alpine solitude. 
Them I thought of, gently healing 
Festered wounds of slighted feeling, 
With the knowledge sure and dear 
That, had they but tarried here, 
I had never wiped as now 
Icy drops from friendless brow : 
And the thought, like gentle words 
Sweetly tuned to holy chords, 
Lulled my throbbing heart to rest, 
With another still more blest 
That in all the sore distress 
Of my longing loneliness. 
Selfish wish had never risen 
To recall them to their prison. 
Who on unbound wings had fled 
To be happy overhead. 

Hours like these have shed a gloom 
O'er my little cheerful room, 
Yet the shade is put to flight 
By such pleasure as to-night : 
Words of chance have taken root. 



DARKNESS DEPARTED. VII. 341 

Hidden seed hath come to fruit ; 
Light of pleasant eyes is on me, 
Words of love are showered upon me ; 
And I come, by music led 
Of those loving words so said, 
From the shades as dark to me 
As Tartarus to Eurydice. 

Such a blending comes to me, 
Old room, when I look on thee : 
First 1 count my former weeping, 
Day with day sad Lent-tide keeping. 
Fasting from the soul's delight, 
Loving nought but coming night, 
Night again with answering sorrow 
Loving nought but coming morrow, 
Day and night w^ith one same chain 
Bounden, running round again ; 
Then my callous heart unhardens, 
Like the earth of frost-bound gardens. 
When the earliest crocus peeps. 
And the snow-drop slily weeps 
Tears of pleasure to the sun ; 
And my tears as freely run. 
Joyous tears ; — the balmy rain 
Of love's spring come back again. 

Now farewell, if not in sorrow 
I forsake you, by to-morrow 



342 SHORTER POEMS. 

Will come something, not regret 
But a feeling kindlier yet, 
The serene memorial mood, 
And a little gratitude. 



OBSERVATIONS. 

What is usually said at the beginning of a vo- 
lume I propose to say here, between the text and 
the notes. Dryden remarks (in one of his admi- 
rable introductions, if I rightly remember), that a 
man's powers may be judged by his work, his 
common sense by his preface. Perhaps a fear to 
meet this criterion makes me thus disguise it : 
at any rate, as the matter of a preface is usually 
some expression of personal opinion, it seems to 
me more fitting that it should be delivered here in 
the privacy, as it were, of the 340th page, than 
that it should thrust itself upon the reader in the 
opening of the book. 

There are several poems, I am aware, among 
the foregoing which will be by many objected to, 
as too open revelations of private feeling. This 
very common objection seems to me to be founded 
on a misapprehension, or only a partial apprehen- 
sion of what poetry is (using the word in its abstract 
sense), and consequently of the sort of critical 
judgment to which it is liable. As explanations 
come always with a better grace volunteered than 
demanded, I shall anticipate the courtesy due to 



344 OBSERVATIONS. 

an accused person by stating, as shortly as I can, 
why the objection appears to me an unfair one. 

Most justly is the practice of poetical composi- 
tion called the poetical Art ; for the experience of 
all ages has shewn clearly enough that through 
his art alone can the poet face the changes of taste 
and time. But if there is an art to exhibit, there 
must be a power also to conceive. This, of course, 
is nothing new ; and no one, when it is put to him 
in this form, would think of denying it. But the 
human mind, generally, holds intellectual truth 
with a grasp at least as weak and unsure as it 
holds truth moral or spiritual. We shall see the 
injustice which is done by a partial recognition of 
the poet's twofold character, as a conceiver and 
as an artist ; and those who will may think of the 
pain which it has caused. 

In society, and in all matters that concern the 
Man himself, the Poet's character as a Conceiver 
is not only acknowledged but often unjustly ex- 
alted. He is so generally looked upon as the only 
possessor of the " mens divinior," or, in the common 
term, inspiration, that many a man, not enough 
remembering that his talents are not his own, has 
avoided exhibiting poetical powers that he may 
have possessed, from a vague notion that he should 
thereby be assuming what he might feel to be an 
unjust, or at any rate an unpleasant, superiority 
over other men. In the same manner as the 
Watchmaker, or any other Craftsman, claims a 



OBSERVATIONS. 345 

superiority over those who are ignorant of his 
craft, the poet does indeed claim a superiority over 
other men ; and he claims an additional superiority 
as a conceiver over those who are not conceivers. 
But the astronomer, the historian, the sculptor, 
the painter, the musical composer, are as much 
Conceivers, and as much enjoy their inspiration, 
as the poet who among- us is the only one who 
receives the glory ; and I suppose that there have 
been persons in modern times as well as ancient 
who have felt even Terpsichore to be a genuine 
Muse. 

But while the Man has been reaping in society 
the benefit of the exaggeration of his character as 
a Conceiver, ample revenge is being taken on his 
Work by a like exaggeration in literature of the 
other half of his character, his character as an 
Artist. As a Conceiver, his power is drawn from 
all the faculties of his nature, his perception, his 
invention, his reflection, his imagination, and his 
heart. As an Artist, he works from the judgment 
and the power of language only. Now the true 
criticism to which every literary work is justly 
liable is the reduction of it to that faculty from 
which it set out; just as the correctness of an 
arithmetical sum is proved by doing it backwards. 

And now to apply what has been said to the 
point I have been trying to prove, — the unrea- 
sonableness, namely, of the common objection to 
poetry involving to any extent an exhibition of 



346 OBSERVATIONS. 

private feeling. The process is short. The con- 
ceiver is in this case drawing his power from the 
Heart alone, and to the Heart alone therefore must 
the result be submitted. The wording indeed of 
such poems may fairly be challenged by the judg- 
ment, for this is an exercise of the art ; but if the 
feeling be not responded to, what is proved but 
that the heart which calls, or that which refuses 
answer is diseased ? And what then the alterna- 
tive but the silence of compassion or the silence of 
self- accusation ? Here, then, is no room for cri- 
ticism, and to one, I think, who feels the solemnity 
which surrounds every phase of a human Soul, 
there is still less room for disgust. 

So much I have said" at the risk of appearing 
dogmatical, because I would willingly undergo the 
blame if the sacredness of such revelations may be 
at no less price defended. But is the reader uncon- 
vinced by what I have written ? Then let him be 
persuaded by what I shall quote. The following 
passage is from an Edinburgh Review of twenty 
years ago, and I think its eloquence will excuse 
its length. It is but fair to say, that the critic is 
speaking of a ''^ great poet," but if what he says 
be true at all, it must also be applicable in pro- 
portion to every one who is really a poet, and not 
(to use Carlyle's fearless vernacular) a '* sham." 

" Each of us," says this writer, '' must have 
been aware in himself of a singular illusion by 
which these disclosures, when read with that tender 



OBSERVATIONS. 347 

or high interest which attaches to poetry, seem to 
have something" of the nature of private and confi- 
dential communications. They are not felt, while 
we read, as declarations published to the world, — 
but almost as secrets whispered to chosen ears. 
Who is there that feels, for a moment, that the 
voice which reaches the inmost recesses of his heart 
is speaking to the careless multitudes around him ? 
Or, if we do so remember, the words seem to pass 
by others like air, and to find their way to the 
hearts for whom they were intended, — kindred and 
sympathizing spirits, who discern and own that 
secret language, of which the privacy is not vio- 
lated, though spoken in the hearing of the un- 
initiated, — because it is not understood. There is 
an unobserved beauty that smiles on us alone ; and 
the more beautiful to us, because we feel as if 
chosen out from a crowd of lovers. Something 
analogous to this is felt in the grandest scenes of 
Nature and of Art. Let a hundred persons look 
from a hill-top over some transcendent landscape. 
Each will select from the wide-spread glory at his 
feet, for his more special love and delight, some 
different gleam of sunshine, — or solemn grove, — 
or embowered spire, — or brown-mouldering ruin, — 
or castellated cloud. During their contemplation, 
the soul of each man is amidst its own creations, 
and in the heart of his own solitude ; — nor is the 
depth of that solitude broken though it lies open 
to the sunshine, and before the eyes of unnumbered 



348 OBSERVATIOT^S. 

spectators. * * * * But there are other reasons why 
we read with complacency writings which, by the 
most public declaration of our most secret feelings, 
ought, it might seem, to shock and revolt our sym- 
pathy. A great poet may address the whole world 
in the language of intensest passion, concerning 
objects of which, rather than speak, face to face, 
with anyone human being on earth, he would perish 
in his misery. For it is in solitude that he utters 
what is to be wafted by all the winds of heaven. 
There are, during his inspiration, present with him 
only the shadows of men. He is not daunted, or 
perplexed, or disturbed, or repelled, by real living 
breathing features. He can updraw just as much 
as he chooses of the curtain that hangs between 
his own solitude and the world of life. He thus 
pours his soul out, partly to himself alone, — partly 
to the ideal abstractions and impersonated images 
that float round him at his own conjuration, — and 
partly to human beings like himself, moving in the 
dark distance of the every day world. He con- 
fesses himself not before men, but before the Spirit 
of Humanity." 

More might yet be said, I think, touching what 
has been yet omitted, the necessities, namely, of 
what is called the poetical temperament, but after 
this magnificent passage I am not inclined to try 
to say it. 



NOTES. 



NOTES. 

I WISH to remark, that four poems in the volume 
were not written by me. There are reasons why 
the discerning Public must be left to distinguish 
them for herself ; no preference that she may give 
to them can mortify me, for they were written by 
those to whom I would willingly resign much more 
valuable considerations than praise. 

Note 1. Page 3. 

Yet for the vision's splendour that hath been. 

" The youth who daily farther from the East 

Must travel, still is Nature's Priest, 

And by the vision splendid 

Is on his way attended." Wordsworth. 

Note 2. Page 37. 

And she arose unto the light and shook 
The flood-drift from her face. 
" And shook the flood-drift from her clouded face." 
This is a line, and I think a striking one, from a prize poem 
by a schoolfellow on the subject of " The Ark on the Moun- 
tains of Ararat." 

Note 3. Page 37. 

The green leaves whiten ever restlessly. 

" L'uliva in qualche dolce piaggia aprica 

Secondo il vento par or verde or bianca." 

These lines, to which I am indebted for the image in the 



352 NOTES. 

text (the willow here answering- to the olive of the southern 
landscape), are quoted by Roscoe as a specimen of Lorenzo 
de' Medici's poetical powers, and indifferently translated by 
the biographer into the following oily couplet : 

" On some sweet sunny slope the olive grows, 
Its hues still changing as the zephyr blows." 

Note 4. Page 40. 

The wedded boughs of interwoven pines. 

The expression " wedded boughs" is to be found in the 
following passage of Shelley's Alastor : 

" Like restless serpents, clothed 
In rainbow and in fire, the parasites 
Starred with ten thousand blossoms, flow around 
The grey trunks, and as gamesome infant's eyes. 
With gentle meanings and most innocent wiles, 
Fold their beams round the hearts of those that love, 
These twine their tendrils with the wedded boughs. 
Uniting their close union." 

It was by accident that I became aware of having borrowed 
here, and I dare say that there are many cases where I have 
borrowed and am still unaware of it. 

Note 5. Page 45. 

A tree of fire. 

" Branchy flame," or some like expression, implying the 
obvious image used in the text, is to be read in one (I cannot 
remember which) of Ebenezer Elliot's Poems. I do not 
mention this to own an obligation in this case, for I had not 
been happy enough to read any of Elliot's poems, I believe, 
when the line in question was written, but to gain an op 
portunity of offering my humble tribute of admiration to a 
o^reat Poet. 



Note 6. Page 58. 

The drear blank height. 






NOTES. 353 

" Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark 
To cry, hold, hold !" Macbeth. 

It was Coleridge's admirable suggestion (whether right 
or wrong) that " blanket " here was a corruption of " blank 
height." 

Note 7. Page 113. Song. 

I think it as well to mention, that this song and one or 
two other poems that may seem to be of the same spirit, were 
written when I was very young, and are only retained as 
specimens. The same apology ought to be made for two 
among the Occasional Sonnets, called Venus Emergens. 
Any one, however, will see there that they were written 
when I knew no more about a sonnet than that it was to 
contain fourteen lines. 

Note 8. Page 186. 

In thine innocence will I he calm^ and in thy 
goodness gay . 

" Serene as Innocence, as Goodness gay." 

This line is from " The Reigning Vice," a poem by a friend, 
exhibiting powers of satire which one is (juite as well sa- 
tisfied that one's friends in general should not possess. He 
has not chosen to put his name upon the title page, or I 
would make a public appeal to him to let the world see the 
beautiful poems which he yet withholds from it. 

Note 9. Page 196. 

The golden waves from that rich land retreating. 

How I came to forget that the Mediterranean tide is so 
slight as to be unnoticeable I do not know, especially as in 
the neighbour sonnet, which was written at the same period, 
the peculiarity is dwelt upon : the mistake, however, was 
made, and the rhyme has nailed it. 



354 NOTES. 

Note 10. Page 198. 

And see the brine 
Is hercy the mindful Sea's commemoration, 
Annually served, of brotherhood in birth. 

In the Monsoon season the floor of this cave is covered 
with salt water. 

Note 11. Page 199. Sonnet. 

Either a superstitious regard for truth, or a wish to keep 
my verses as free as possible from the suspicion of " shams," 
makes me confess that 1 never did meet the dawn in the way 
here described. If any one would suggest how the sonnet 
could be so altered as to preserve the truth and the simile 
together, I should be very glad to adopt the alteration. 

Note 12. Page 208. 

Not that immortal Mantuan's tender strain. 

The allusion is to the Episode of Nisus and Euryalus, 
which seems to me unequalled in pathos by any story ever 
told. The sonnets of Shakspeare, which are alluded to in 
the next line, are very lovely, and very little admired. 

Note 13. Page 209. 

'* A garland fashioned of the pure white rose.'' 

The line is from the XX Vth of Mr. Wordsworth's " Son- 
nets Dedicated to Liberty," Part I. 

Note 14. Page 224. Sonnets to the Poet Wordsworth. 

It is worth while saying, to free me from the suspicion of 
adulation in case these sonnets should ever come under Mr. 
Wordsworth's eye, that they were written after accidentally 
meeting him in society, and when I had no idea that I should 



NOTES. 355 

ever have the happiness of seeing more of the venerable 
Poet. The feeling is therefore genuine, however awkwardly 
expressed. 

Note 15. Page 245. Sonnet after reading a book of 
Eastern Travels. 

The book in question was Major Skinner's Travels, a book 
made delightful by the good spirits of the writer. The 
epithet *' sweet " here applied to the desert is only proper 
in spring, when it is covered with flowers, geraniums and 
mignonette being the commonest. 

Note 16. Page 264. 

Airs of grace. 

" She calls it heavenly moisture, air of grace." 

shakspeare. 

Note 17. Page 278. 

The allusions to Milton and Shakspeare in this stanza 
do not need particularizing. 

Note 18. Page 295. 

The primrose there 
Lights up her stars upon the shady air. 

I am glad that I have an opportunity of adding another to 
the public requests already made to Mr. Sidney Walker to 
allow his MS. poems to be printed ; private request appears 
to be utterly in vain ; and the poems, which are remarkable 
for a melody and imagery alike delicate and exquisite, are 
left to the enjoyment of his friends alone in the perishable 
shape of loose sheets of paper. The idea in the text was, I 
believe, taken from one of these secreted compositions. 

Note 19. Page 329. Darkness Departed. 

I wish to say, that the Poems under this title were written 



356 NOTES. 

during that unsettled state of mind which I suppose most 
men sometime or other in their lives must pass through ; a 
state which, however morhid in itself, may be necessary to 
the formation of a sure and settled health. 



-"HE END. 



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